Witchy-POO Lady

I was out late last Friday night. Partying and pigging out on fries with some new people I had just met at a bar. It was a typical beer, pool table, and small talk kind of a night. Except for one thing, the old couple in the center of the hall dancing to Hot In Herre by Nelly. Why they were playing this song? I don’t know. Why this couple decided it was there jam?  Well, I don’t know their backstory.

The couple were getting down and dirty. Grinding and jostling around with their sticks like duelers from medieval times. The guy was in his late twenties or early thirties, and the woman in her late forties or something. But who am I to judge? I just smiled their way as I admired their ability to shake it. The lady comes over to me and says, “Hi there!”

“Hi,” I said, “nice moves.”
“Thanks baby, we’re just fooling around there. I dare him to dance goofy all the time and he ends up dancing like a pro.”

We shared a laugh. I was on my third beer, so her proximity to my face didn’t bother me much. Yet, seeing her up close allowed me to notice how much older/wiser she actually was. Sixties? Hmm, probably closer to her mid-fifites. She must take care of her body, I thought. I just smiled and sipped my drink. Then my friend joined us, and she began to chat with the lady’s gentleman friend.

That’s when I notice something strange.

The sixties-something woman turns around and squints her eyes focusing on my friends face. It was as if every vein on her head popped out to absorb some unknown energy in the room. She was having a transformation before my eyes! Then the lady made a strange gesture with her hand. Some dude we were sharing the pool table with leaned over to me, and through his beer breath whispered, “Witch.” Maybe he was drunk. Maybe it’s because I’m gullible, or because I think aliens exists—but I believed him.


Let me describe what she looked like. She wore tight blue jeans that rolled up around her ankles. Blue ballet slipper shoes with pink socks. Her shirt was nice and loose, except it had glittery polkadots–also it was tight around the shoulders and it squeezed the excess fat around her thin arms. Her blonde hair was tied up in a way that if you saw her from behind you might think she was twenty. Her face, up close, was saggy, probably from too much alcohol. She looked like she’s had a hard life.

The lady finally pulled her young male friends’ arm, and they walked out of the bar together. My girlfriend stood there a moment perplexed, but continued sipping her rum and coke. The guy stayed by the lady’s side the entire time.

We all wondered if they were together, and if so—she’s got moves y’all. Or maybe she’s got powers? Was he under a spell?    After a few moments of staring at her we all looked at one another, dazed and dreamy. How did we get there? Why was she talking to us? Etc. etc. etc. Suddenly, from the outside window–a knock.   She stood there pointing at my friend with her finger.

“You are beautiful! YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!! YOU ARE BEAUUUTIFULL!!!” She repeated this five times and looked at my friend intently. My little pelitos (this means little hairs in Spanish) stood up on my arms.

“Close your eyes, she’s sucking your soul!” said beer breath next to me. Something in the sound of his voice told me he wasn’t lying—or maybe we were all gone by then. But every single one of us around the table obeyed. We looked away. As soon as the lady left, my friend said out loud, “I think I’m going to call her Witchy-Poo Lady.”

Yes, the Witchy-Poo Lady who dances to Nelly’s Hot In Herre.

* * * 

The world is so bizarre sometimes. I have attached the link for your auditory pleasure. Imagine Ms. Witchy-Poo Lady getting down to this and staring at your eyes—-trying to suck out your soul. Of course, this could all be my imagination–exaggeration–frustration–constipation–of–creation…I mean, creativity. Yet, she was one of the most interesting people I’ve seen this past weekend. She could be a cool character for a story. You never know.


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