Maybe everyone out there in internet land is a total hottie. Hey. It’s the internet. We’re all hot on the internet, right? But this happened IN REAL LIFE. And I don’t know about you, but strange men blabbering on about my beauty does NOT happen every day. It doesn’t even happen from not so strange men! So this was a little flabbergasting event in my day today:
scene: The Dunn Loring metro parking lot (outside, not a garage). Me walking through the lot (not on the sidewalk, but down an aisle of cars) toward the metro. I’m wearing a snazzy purple skirt with a light purple blouse and black open toed sandals. Headphones on, listening to the Dawn and Drew Show. I’m not wearing any makeup. Even though I’m going to see some of my clients. I know, I know. Oh well. There is a man in a nice suit with a nice bag walking toward me. As he approaches, he stops and starts talking to me and I have to take off my headphones. All I can remember about the man was that he was shorter than me, and appeared to be in his right senses (despite all other evidence to the contrary).
man: *talking, but I can’t hear him so I take off earphones*

man: Oh, sorry, *motioning to the headphones*

me: Oh, no problem.

I am expecting to be asked for directions. I hope he hurries up, because I am running a bit late.

man: I’m sorry to bother you, I just noticed you over there, and I just had to come over and tell you–

(my mind is wandering a zillion miles a minute, still kind of thinking about the podcast I was listening to, and kind of searching through his words in the back of my mind for items I can lock onto to give directions too. I’m just waiting for “I66” or “beltway” or “hotel” or an address or something I can point him to.. and so I can’t remember any of the exact words he says, just the general gist that he is complimenting me in a rather cute, honest way. I mean, no other guys were around to have to pay off the bet, so.. )

man: –your face, and your eyes, I mean, I really don’t come over to strange women, but I would kick myself if I kept walking, and, even from the sidewalk, I had to come over, you just have this presence–

(I am blushing furiously and can’t help wondering if he is really serious or just pulling my leg or if there are hidden cameras somewhere that will jump out and holler, “HAHA!” and maybe this guy needs his contacts prescription checked? I really can’t form any words, and the only thoughts in my head were, “uhhhhhhhh really?? me???” and “but i’m married!” and still i’m kind of checking to see if he’s going to toss in “which way to tyson’s corner?” in there somewhere)

man: — so I hope you don’t mind me asking your name?

me: Uhhh. Amy.

man: And what do you do Amy?

me: Uhhh. I’m a web designer. I’m sorry, I am just in a little bit of a hurry. (I make strange waving motions toward the metro station)

man: Oh, right, of course, Can I walk with you? Would you mind giving me your number? I’d love to–
me: (seriously blushing so much that I beleive they may be able to see my red face from SPACE, because I am so embarassed) I’m sorry, I’m married.

man: (glances down at my left hand. )

(My ring doesn’t fit on my 4th finger anymore, so I wear it on my 3rd. I feel bad and even guilty, like I’ve misrepresented myself to him somehow and all this hoo ha could have been prevented if I JUST HAD MY RING ON THE RIGHT FINGER, but (thankfully) before brain could register all this and send words to tongue to babble on endlessly, the man turns to go)

man, turning to go: Ahh, sorry to have bothered you then, tell him he’s a lucky man!

me, totally flabbergasted, and kind of thoughtless: Sorry- thanks- I will!

On relating this tale to my husband, his primary comment was: “It must be the boobs.”

Could be. I do have nice boobs.

-amy doesn’t swagger or saunter. amy strolls.