I don't really know what it is, but I don't think I have ever ever in my whole wide life been hit on by someone my own age. Let alone my own age, my own decade. My own generation.
This is particularly ironic because most people manage to convince themselves that I'm in high school. And then I get hit on by grandpas.
The whole thing is just flat out disturbing.
So today, there I was sitting in Borders with my laptop, finally out of my pajamas and leaving the house, and typing away on The Next Great American Novel (or not).
A professorly-looking fellow, white haired and fully bearded, walked past me a few times en route to the cafe or magazines or who knows what. He was sitting somewhere behind me.
Since I have the attention span of a squirrel (although, honestly, squirrels might have great attention spans - when they're chowing down on some nuts or standing in the middle of the road waiting to get slammed by my car they seem pretty focused) I feel the need to look up every single time I sense a movement/noise/odors/a change in the rays of the sun... Unfortunately, this meant that I made eye contact with Professor White Beard a number of times as he passed by, smiling paternally.
A while later, he comes up behind me and says, "So, what kind of writer are you?"
Me: Ummm, uhh, well I'm not really a writer, well not yet, I mean I want to be. (Have I mentioned that I can be rather awkward when speaking to strangers? Especially when I'm trying to contain the verbal diarrhea that naturally pours forth when strange men start asking me questions?)
Him: Well, what's your preferred genre?
Me: Uhhhh
Him: Novel, short story, poem, epic poem....
Me: Um, whatever strikes me at the time I guess....
Him: Well what are you working on right now?
Me: Some essays?
Him: I'm a science writer.
Me: Oh, interesting.
Him: I just published my 100th paper.
Me: Wow, congratulations.
Him: Do you go to college around here?
Me: No, no. I graduated last year. A year and a half ago? But, um, no.
Him: So you're just here for fun?
Me: Yes, I guess so.
Him: Do you come here often?
Me: Yes, sometimes. I also go to the other Borders.
Him: Oh, I have a friend in that area. I get up there occasionally.
Me: Huh.
Him: Well, maybe I'll see you around again sometime.
Me: Ok, nice meeting you. Bye.
He leaves. Phew!
Then, a couple hours later, right as I'm about to pack up and leave, someone comes up behind me again.
Him: You're still here!
Me: Oh, haha, um, yes. Just about to pack up.
Him: Send me a story. I'll send you a paper.
He hands me piece of paper with his name (Dr. S something or other), email address, and phone number. He says goodbye and leaves.
I pack up and leave. Very. Very. Quickly.
Too bad I'm not in the market for a Sugar Daddy....
2 comments:
That's a lie! I hit on you! and so did B, and there are a few others who will remain nameless...
Hey, the Sugar Daddy was my idea!
You should've taken his photo and put it on your blog for his wife to see!!!!
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