I often wonder if I have any male readers (aside from my dad and the few boys I practically force to keep up with this thing). Mensches in madras, if you're out there, this ones for you.
In the words of Sophia Patrillo: Picture It. Associated Supermarket, last night. I'm standing in the Express Line waiting to check out. A man gets in line behind me. He does not appear to be purchasing any groceries.
I bend down to put my empty basket on the floor. I then realize I'm wearing one of those tiny J. Crew tops that you cannot wear underpinnings with, which is fine, because I'm a small girl. But apparently I wasn't careful enough when I leaned over, and upon righting myself this creep is staring at me, smiling, and says, "You can't blame me. You have a good sense of humor, right?"
Yea, bud, I do. But that ain't funny.
Apparently my petrified face wasn't telling enough, because this man continued to pepper me with questions, asking me what I did for a living and if the rotisserie here was any good. I did my best to give one-worded answers politely and then turn away from him, but this didn't seem to work either. You're probably wondering why I haven't left the store by now, but the customer in front of me was moving like molasses and I really, REALLY needed my four items. Mr. Charming then tells me that he's reading a book, something along the lines of 'How to Date', and it advises men to strike up conversation anywhere. He then holds out his hand and says, "Hi, I'm _____". (Your Friendly Neighborhood Pervert? I blocked out his name the moment he uttered it). Finally, it was MY turn. I silently will the checkout girl to move as fast as she possibly can (and for a handsome man to swoop in and save the day - no such luck). Just as I'm about to swipe my credit card, he says, "So, you want to get a drink tonight?"
After looking around in disbelief to see if anyone was witnessing this, (of course not - no one is EVER around when weird crap happens to me) I did what any self respecting girl would have: Lied, said I had a boyfriend, paid with cash because it is much faster, and got the hell out of there. But not before he tried to make more small talk with me and purchased an impromptu muffin, because as I said, he got in line behind me empty-handed.
First of all, I need to find the author of this so-called 'book' and write him a letter.
Second, what is my life?
And finally, I'm still trying to get over the fact that there are boys out there who would actually rather date a boring girl with zero personality and hair that resembles muppet fur than a girl who bakes Funfetti and writes thank you notes and lives in sundresses and spends a great deal of her time laughing. I don't need to be afraid of going to the market alone, too.