The Look
D. Paul Angel
675 Words

One of the difficulties I have in writing is to create bad characters. Let me rephrase that. Bad characters are easy to make- I do it all the time! Creating villains, now therein lies the rub. What follows is my attempt to create the essence of such an antagonist, in particular, a dudebro. I think I missed the target, though not completely. So any thoughts would be most welcome!

Oh yeah, she has got to be giving me the look. You get used to it after a while. Chicks are born knowing how to flash it. Gotta be in that extra leg of their chromosomes or somethin’.

I assumed it was just a mom thing until I had to appear before this lady judge as a teen. See, I’d taken dad’s ride to impress this sophomore hottie, when this asshole runs me off the road. But does he get charged? Nope. I do, for joy riding and causing my own accident. So I appear before this lady judge and all she wants to say is, “Blah blah blah going the wrong way blah blah blah.” Because, of course, I’m just a kid and he’s the “adult.” But if he saw me coming, why didn’t he move? Pffft. Some adult. But say that to a judge, especially a lady one, and oh yeah, I got the look. That’s when I knew it was a female thing and not just a mom thing.

Like when I joined the Navy straight outta high school. They called me a seaman, (I still laugh at that!). I go into the club and there’s this smokin’ hot MILF at the bar. She’s wearing a little black dress, so I know she wants a guy like me. So I go up to her, right, but all she wants to know is what I’m doing in the Officer’s Club if I’m not an officer? Please! ‘Cause that’s where the good tail is, right? And anyways, I tell her, with a rack that fine I’d motorboat her till she felt like a Captain. That’s when she busted out the look. And busted me all the way out to the Aleutians.And just ’cause an Admiral outranks a Captain, I guess?

I thought the Navy’d be the end of bitches, but no. I had this cush’ job for awhile on Wall Street. All the perks, all the benies… all good except this broad boss riding my ass all the damn time. “Why’re you late? Why’d you leave early? Where’re your TSP reports?” On and on and ON! There was no rest from her. Finally, she’s busted my balls so much I had to stay late. Pissed me off. Then I got a text from my bro that he needs a wingman for this pair of ladies at a party. So I tell my boss I need to go but, no, she just rolls her eyes and tells me I can’t leave till the reports are done. Like you can do three weeks of reports in a night? Please. So I tell her I gotta roll and she just gives me the look. Then fires me! Bam! No warning, no nothing, just, here’s the door, goodbye!

Well, Wall Street was dead to me at that point, so here I am now, out in the boonies of suburbia, staring back at this old lady. The golf course won’t let me on anymore, me… and it’s a freakin’muni course! Just cause my time’s to valuable to wait for a bunch of grandmas to slug through their cinco-bogeyed holes? Women shouldn’t be on the course at any age! But, whatever. So I play my own game and just hit yard to yard, ya know? No harm. Hardly a divot in any lawns at all.

And, like I’m trying to explain to the lady in front of me, there is no out of bounds. So I should totally be able to hit it back out of her den and not have to pick up. I mean the glass door’s already broken, right? Not like it can be broken again. But of course she’s not listening at all. Just like the rest of them. Never wanting to admit how right the man is. Please. After I tell her that, yeah I’m almost certain she’s giving me the look. It’s just hard to tell with that shotgun of hers covering so much of her face.

That and the muzzle flash.