I was sitting on my lunch break thinking I might write something but wasn't quite sure what to write. On cue, as though my thoughts were spoken aloud, enter stage left a crazy old kook pushing his walker.
Ooh you like nice, he crooned as I was looking in my compact touching up my face.
I generally enjoy it when men dote on me. Who doesn't? But I grow a little weary when it comes from an undesirable and I'm in a position where it's hard to escape.
I replied with gratitude and tried to make polite conversation to be nice because maybe he was a lonely old man and just wanted to talk to a pretty girl.
I'm just so magnanimous.
And I will be punished for it.
He started telling me an incredibly uncomfortable story about how he went on a date with a lady once who was wearing so much makeup it got all over his clothes so he sent her to the restroom to wipe it off and had some other gal help her put it on correctly. Then I told her, 'There. Now I don't mind taking you out.'
Um.
This would be the point where I turned to my studio audience and asked, Now what do I say to that?
I will spare you the further details he shared with me about his desire for women since his divorce.
It was probably not more than five minutes he continued talking at me but it was definitely the most awkward moment I've had in a long time.
Mother said the crazies are always seeking her out to tell her their life stories.
So is it, like, encoded in my genes or something?
Tattooed on my forehead?
Crazies come hither! I'm your gal!
Maybe its in my cheekbones.
Some old guy mentioned them once.
Isn't she beautiful? my date had said.
Yes, the old man replied, it's in the cheekbones.
Maybe its time I wear less blush.
Its worth a shot.
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