Dona E. Bowens

See, most people turn away from silliness, shun absurdities, run from chaos. Not this girl, especially when I’m bored. Remember I’m that chick that used to run out to see the riots every time a protest in Barcelona turned dangerous. Nobody had guns, might as well observe the crazy up close—until I almost got steamrolled by a giant planter with a palm tree in it.

Boredom gets me making bad choices just to see what might happen. That’s how you end up with a Sugar Daddy Boomer who couldn’t send a text message if his life depended on it. What’s with boomers and all these goddamn phone calls? You mean to tell me that the generation that found ways to survive 3 days in the mud at Woodstock somehow can’t master fucking text messaging? It ain’t that complicated. Told the man I don’t do phone chitty-chat. Text a Sista where and when to meet up and we can chitty-chat about whatever you like—your days at Studio 54 for example. But, goddamn, don’t call me about it. I’ll even accept a voice note but I know that’s asking too much considering texting is beyond your grasp.

So now, because this bitch was bored and wanted to see what might happen, now I’m asking millenials and a few GenZs, “Hold on, let me put my glasses on. Now show me again here on my smartass phone how I can mute this number? Nahhhh. I don’t want to block it. I just don’t. want. to. hear. it!”

The couple of knick-knacks he’s tossed my way in no way, shape or form compensate for the wear and tear on my nerves. Motherfucker is messing with my peace. Goddamn it, the man called during a Barca match. I can’t have that! Ain’t it just like Boredom to have me all mixed up in some chaos without an exit strategy?

But believe me when I tell you that Dona is gonna jar herself loose somehow. When Dona speaks about herself in the 3rd person you know she’s not fucking around. Sugar Daddy Boomer’s days are numbered. Maybe somebody should call and warn him.