Listen up, ladies of Richmond. In certain parts of the country, our reputation is well-known and widely recognized; free from the blemishes a day spent on the links at CCV or hollering at RIR could bring. In fact, I am in one of those places today. The town has a charm that can best be summed up by the local cable channel programming, which features episodes of The 700 Club followed by The Hills followed again by The 700 Club a few times a day. It kind of makes sense. I would need to call on Jesus for strength if The Hills were in syndication in Richmond.
Anywho, I went tripping merrily down the street this afternoon when an elderly woman stopped me and asked if I am from Richmond. I gave her my debutant smile (sike) and said, “why yes, I am from Richmond”! I asked the older woman how in the world she knew I was from the RVA, and no shit, she said “You’ve got that high-heeled Richmond walk. You all wear the same high heels and you have a walk. I knew you were from Richmond two blocks ago”.
She carried on across the street and was gone before I thought to offer to buy her badass a woo woo.