Stupid Azz Shoes?!

There's definitely something on me that says: talk shit about me, to my face preferably.

Why? Because today, while in the midst of my Mexico shopping (someone kill me now! I'm going insane with all this bullshit. I didn't have lunch today until 10:30 PM!), some ghetto hood rat bitch heifer talked shit about my shoes--my favorite ones, as a matter of fact!
It wasn't like she was trying to be discreet about it, either.

Ghetto Hood Rat Bitch Heifer's equally ghetto bitch friend (who was Hispanic, around 17, and was the mom of a kid around the age of one and a half. She then had the nerve to call me Ma'am... Bitch, am I holding a kid? Do you see a ring on my finger? Fuck you, hoe) stopped in front of me as I was looking at some stuff, pointed at my shoes, and said "See, those are the type of shoes I have to wear to work."

I sat there... since I saw these two ghetto hoes get in my face, and let them both gawk.
Yes... I grant you the privilege to stare at the wonderful beauty of my fantastic shoes!
I guess only normal people like my shoes (they were flats!! Fucking flats!!--the brown ones with the cute belt buckle in the front!), because her bitch ass heifer friend went:
"Eghhh! Why da hell you have to buy such stupid azz shoes?!"

Which made my jaw drop.

Wha...what you say, heifer? I couldn't understand through your wigger accent!

I dropped the clothes I had in my hands, and of course, turned hood-rat Mexican on them.
I did The Rock eyebrow... looked the dumb ass up and down once (not the Ghetto Momma. I respected the fact she was carrying her baby in her arms. Who fights with a lady carrying a baby?)... then stopped my gaze at her shoes (what else? Err Force Ones!)... then looked her in the eye.
No words.
No need... because her Ghetto Momma Friend started stuttering and trying to fix what her dumb ass friend said.
"I like 'em!! I'm just sayin'... I can't find any... I mean, they're nice."
That's when Ghetto Hood Rat Bitch Heifer started stuttering as well.
"Your shoes are stupid too. My shoes are stupid. Shoes are stupid..."

Yeah, bitch, that's what I thought. Next time, talk shit about some chick who's at least two inches shorter than your stumpy ass. Biiiiiiiiiiatch!

Seriously... these are stressful times... why the fuck does some imbecile, who's probably 17, think they can play with me like that?
Yeah, I'm a good girl... I rarely fight... but when I've been out since 10 in the morning, I've been to the gym and back, I haven't had a single bite to eat since 12 in the afternoon, and it's already 9 PM, don't fuck with me.
I won't be nice, I won't let shit slip. Well... maybe if you're a five foot six Latina or taller... or a very angry black woman. I don't even argue with either of those groups of girls.

(Ha! And to kill it, I finished my day by grocery shopping at 9:30 PM and I had this long ass conversation with this Iranian guy and his wife about Habanero chiles. At least this time it wasn't a ten minute conversation on how to properly roll up a burrito... and which flour tortillas work best. That shit's annoying. Just because I'm standing by the Mission Tortillas stand doesn't mean I work for them... or that I even know how to prepare award-winning tortilla dishes. Pop 8 of those bitches in a microwave for 2:22 and you're good. That's the best I can do)