While in a seaside bar in Nag's Head, NC, my friend Clarissa and I were accosted by a pair of Jersey Boys, Tony and Vinnie (no kidding); and we wound up having a mini-episode of Cajun Girls Meet Jersey Shore.
Yes, our stalwarts fit the stereotype, probably intentionally on their part: the deep tans, the wrap-around sunglasses, the slicked-down hair, and some tattooing [ugh!] Anyway, they seemed interesting at first.
Then things went downhill.
"Hey, you girls talk funny. Where you from?"
"We're from Louisiana."
"Oh, are Coonasses from the Bayou, or from Noo Orleans?"
I indicated that we were originally from New Orleans, and that "coonass" was an impolite term.
"Oh, sorry. You're Cajun chicks, then." We let the term "chick" slip.
Some time passed. And conversation moved from chatting to their hitting on us.
"Oh yeah, we got some hot Cajun chicks here, Clarissa and Angel. Tell me Clarissa, are you hot to trot?"
Clarissa pretended to not understand.
"Je ne sais pas?" Clarissa spoke only passable French; but it was sufficient to confuse those guys that French was our primary language.
Clarissa said, "That would be nice. But we'll have to ask the permission of my parents."
This confused Vinnie and Tony. Little wheels went off between their ears. Did these girls come from a place in which you ask their parents when you want to have sex with them?
Vinnie: "What you mean?"
Clarissa: "Did you not propose the marriage to me? I accepted your proposal. You're my fiancé. If my parents agree to our marriage, then we may sleep together before. Maman will even tuck us in."
Vinnie looked confused. And worried. Tony assumed that trapped look.
Clarissa said, "Your intentions were honorable, I hope?"
I stroked Tony's forearm. "Mes freres, they will like you, yes!"
Vinnie and Tony made some lame excuse about having to meet someone. I never got any further word on our being engaged.
Yes, our stalwarts fit the stereotype, probably intentionally on their part: the deep tans, the wrap-around sunglasses, the slicked-down hair, and some tattooing [ugh!] Anyway, they seemed interesting at first.
Then things went downhill.
"Hey, you girls talk funny. Where you from?"
"We're from Louisiana."
"Oh, are Coonasses from the Bayou, or from Noo Orleans?"
I indicated that we were originally from New Orleans, and that "coonass" was an impolite term.
"Oh, sorry. You're Cajun chicks, then." We let the term "chick" slip.
Some time passed. And conversation moved from chatting to their hitting on us.
"Oh yeah, we got some hot Cajun chicks here, Clarissa and Angel. Tell me Clarissa, are you hot to trot?"
Clarissa pretended to not understand.
"Je ne sais pas?" Clarissa spoke only passable French; but it was sufficient to confuse those guys that French was our primary language.
So Vinnie made an obscene gesture using a finger being repeatedly inserted into his fist. Tony did the same to me. Clarissa and I got the message. Tony nodded, so I got it too. Too bad; just a pair of Yankee sex tourists who may have heard that Southern girls were easy.
Clarissa said, "That would be nice. But we'll have to ask the permission of my parents."
This confused Vinnie and Tony. Little wheels went off between their ears. Did these girls come from a place in which you ask their parents when you want to have sex with them?
Vinnie: "What you mean?"
Clarissa: "Did you not propose the marriage to me? I accepted your proposal. You're my fiancé. If my parents agree to our marriage, then we may sleep together before. Maman will even tuck us in."
Vinnie looked confused. And worried. Tony assumed that trapped look.
Clarissa said, "Your intentions were honorable, I hope?"
I stroked Tony's forearm. "Mes freres, they will like you, yes!"
Vinnie and Tony made some lame excuse about having to meet someone. I never got any further word on our being engaged.
5 comments:
I hope they were thoroughly confused! Funny story. People will believe anything about New Orleans, I think.
You were luckxy in that you didn't encounter the guidette: In Jersey the female is more deadly than the male. And I expect that the guys are all talk, little yard. Not that I go around measuring penises, though.
They sounded like some real tools.
Coonasses is impolite?
Funny tail.
Thanks Duckbutt and anonymous.
Rachel: Yup.
Full Cup: That might be a good hobby; I wouldn't write it off.
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