I’m not African

I’ve just got out of a taxi, where i not only experienced the most hilarious, worst, taxi ride ever, but was also almost inappropriately felt up, gassed out with the Ultimate ‘Glade’ car refreshner, told i’m very attractive, followed by a look that suggested ‘rape’ and then called ‘AFRICAN!’ My taxi driver thought i was quite the dish (which I am…and i know, but i just pretend to be modest.) 🙂 All i’m gonna say is when the words ‘I’m not a pervert’ is being said to you, as you are being sped through the rainy damp streets of Wakefield to Pontefract, by your ‘broken every rule of the highway code’ taxi driver…you know you’re life is no longer rainbows and candy floss.

Now, i’m preggo…i like a steady, easy, mild drive home. What i got was some kind of hell-hole of a rollercoaster, where my body was being hurled back and forth, through the lamp lit streets, passing signs reading ‘Humps 1 Mile’ and being hit on by an Indian taxi driver, who has an apparent wife & three kids. He bets i ‘have ALL the boys chasing me.’ I bet he never even passed his driving test! He also asked me if i had ever been to Africa, with me being black and all…and then asked me if i would go and smuggle him back a few diamonds? What is my life? My life journey is littered with these random comedic moments of terror. What are the chances of me moseying out of work, after promoting all day and filming a wee bit at a Wakefield gym, then ‘oh yeah’ jumping into his taxi of glory outside

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