Epic Smack-down is epic

I got some entertainment with this morning's train ride. A thin woman with long blond hair was seated, her chin in her hand. She was obviously grumpy and groggy, a natural state to be in on a Monday morning. Her body language said, "Nobody but a long-lost best friend long thought dead should even think about approaching me." Standing next to her, looming over her and invading her personal space, was a guy trying to chat her up like they were at a bar on "horny co-eds only" night.

She looked up at him and GLARED. We're talking a glare that would have made a single Donal Trump put away the tic-tacks and tuck his tail between his legs and slink off. The Fonz would have apologized for bothering her and walked away. Bling-Bling from Johnny Test would have run to his mad scientist brigade to have them create a new cream for the burn he'd just gotten. Not this guy, He was either too clueless or too arrogant to get the, well, "Hint" isn't the right word for a clue delivered with a metaphorical mallet. He persisted.

She took off a glove and extended her pointer finger. On the back of the finger was a tattoo of the universal "Female" symbol. He kept trying to look around her hand to keep talking to her. He finally processed the symbol on her finger and got a lascivious "Oh yeah," look on his face, complete with an eyebrow waggle.

She, still glaring, shook her head and pointed at the tattoo with her other hand. She then shoved her hand in his face to where she was almost touching his nose.

The nickel dropped for the nit-wit, and he scampered off the train at the next stop. She put her glove back on and resumed her previous position.

Naturally, I wanted to give her kudos but, seeing as how the entire exchange had been about how she wanted to be left alone, I kept to myself.