“Excuse me, Miss,” I said. “Am I stepping on your foot?”
The lady in question was hanging on to the same pole that I had grabbed. I was on the bus from Belmopan to Belize and the passengers were jammed in together like pickles in a jar. It was hot and smelled just like a . . . well, you probably already know what a hot, crowded bus in Belize smells like.
“No,” she said. “You’re not stepping on my foot.”
“Oh, then it must be you stepping on mine,” I told her.
She moved her foot and glared at me. My smart mouth tends to get me in trouble and I figured I’d better watch myself. She was three inches taller than me and outweighed me by forty pounds. She also looked as fit as a mixed martial arts fighter.
“I wish I had a seat,” she said, poking her head over my shoulder and looking at the row of benches.
All the seats were taken up by ladies except one. It was occupied by a middle-aged man who was quite overweight.
“Any gentleman would give up his seat to a lady,” she said, loudly.
She tried to fan herself with her handkerchief and only succeeded in elbowing me in the ribs. The man in the seat settled in and folded his hands over his stomach. He closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t hear her.
She stared straight at him and loudly said, “I guess there are no gentlemen on this bus.”
He opened his eyes and winked at her. She tried the direct approach.
“Hey!” she called. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Are you speaking to me, Madam?” the fat man asked.
“I certainly am,” she said. “If that belly of yours was on a woman she would be pregnant.”
“It was,” he said. “She is.”
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