30 May 2012

I Don't Understand. I Really Don't.

I must have looked special yesterday. Somehow.

It's all very confusing.

And I'm hesitant to even talk about this because every time I have a similar story . . . my mother gets this look . . . this Why did I ever let my baby girl go off and live by herself in a place where things like this happen??? look . . . and then I feel bad.

But oh, well.

I was walking down the street after going to the bank to deposit my paycheck after spending a considerable portion of my day at work.

My attitude seems to automatically adjust to any situation I happen to be in, so I was exuding a pretty tough persona. Actually, what with the Caesar dressing smeared across my jeans and the chicken salad residue on my boots paired with the bail-bondsman/tattoo-parlor/heavy-metal-bar section of downtown I was walking through . . . I was probably pretty bad-ass.

So here I was, just walking down the street in the general direction of the light-rail, minding my own business. When this cretin of a guy whizzes past on a skateboard, turns back to kind of zoom (skate? board? pass? what is the verb I'm looking for?) past me again, and says, "Shit, woman, you're gorgeous."

I am not someone whose self-esteem gets a boost when people tell me I look nice. Or 'gorgeous' to use the cretin's vocabulary (I call him a cretin because . . . seriously . . . does a non-cretin whoosh around the city on a skateboard looking thoroughally unwashed and unkempt checking out random women? I think not. I hope not.) I just don't get it.

Seeing as how I in no way reacted to his comment, he was at least a wise creepy person and zipped on down the street to go stare at someone else's breasts. Not like there's a considerable amount of breastage here to stare at, which leaves me further wondering what the hell he was checking out so enthusiastically.

I didn't put much thought into the whole occurrence. Variations on that theme happen fairly regularly.

But much later that evening, about nine actually, I was out walking about again. I had been struck by a craving for lemon drops. I don't mean the vodka cocktail (but thank you for the extra education, google), but the good old-fashioned lemon candy. They've been my favorite hard candy since I was, like, nine. Pretty fabulous. And, like I was saying, I was struck by a hankering to go on out and find some. I knew the local Smith's had a bulk candy section, so I figured that was a pretty good bet.

I was, like, fifty feet from the grocery store when I was stopped by a homeless man named Reno. He pulled a flower of a landscaping bush nearby and gave it to me (I felt sad about his picking someone else's flowers, but what was I supposed to do? Refuse the flower? Then it would be wasted. What does one do when a homeless man gives one a flower? None of my extensive education had prepared me for that moment. Ug. I knew college was a waste of time.). Said it was "criminal" for such a pretty woman to go around without anyone telling her how nice she looked, and that I "deserved" this flower.

People like to talk to me. It's a genetic trait I inherited from my father. So, since this homeless guy actually registered several notches lower on the CREEPY! scale than the skater dude from earlier, I stuck around and talked to him for awhile. I had been reading as I walked to the store, so we mostly talked about literature. It wasn't so bad. Our conversation only lasted for about two minutes because he had to go catch a bus.

Two similar happenings in the same day was obvious enough to trip the radar.

And I was very confused.

It couldn't be what I was wearing, because I'd changed clothes between getting home from work/the bank and when I left to raid the bulk candy aisle.

The only thing I can think of is . . . I was having a very good hair day. It was doing its thing all volume-y and blowing and shiny and stuff. I think I might have forgotten to brush it again that morning (remembering to brush my hair is like the bane of my existence sometimes. Such a first-world problem.). But that seems an unlikely reason . . .

'Tis odd. 'Tis very odd.

And the Schaffer is very confused.

Love always,
Ashley Irene


2 comments:

shaylee ann said...

{speechless} At this moment I am glad that there are three guys in my life (besides my dad and brothers) who compliment me on my looks, and who aren't creepy in the least. WOW. Ashley, I'm seriously considering asking you to move in my basement with my sister and I. Your posts scare me, and I'm not even your mother. Take care, dear!

Cody said...

Cool. That's totally awesome. And maybe it's weird, but I find very little creepy with the whole story.
And maybe, the skateboard dude wasn't eying cleavage... maybe.

Post a Comment