Inheriting a freak magnet
I've inherited my mother's propensity to attract, without trying, complete freaks, raging alcoholics and manically depressed people. Or maybe these types of people are simply in such abundance that it's impossible to go through life without collecting a fair share of them within a circle of aquaintances.
I don't know.
What I do know is that I'm tired of weird old men thinking that my mere proximity to them is an open invitation to spill their life stories, prison stories or myriad questions about organic peanut butter and local honey.
Telling me that you just got out of prison for murder doesn't make me want to carry on the conversation. Going on to tell me how much you like to look at morbid.com to see the dead girls in their prom dresses makes me want to grab the nearest cop and ask him to make you go away.
And if I'm intently staring at the pickle shelf and then trying frantically to get, unaccompanied, to the coffee shelf, I probably don't want to talk about whether honey from Greeley is better or cheaper than honey from Laramie, or whether you should eat organic peanut butter if you're allergic to peanuts.
Creepy old men of the world: Leave me alone!!
3 comments:
Fine! I'll leave you alone! Kidding....
Oh, no -- when I say that I was just standing there, I was really just standing there, shopping for pickles, and the guy behind me started talking, for no reason, about peanut butter and honey ... and kept talking, and since I was the only person in the aisle, and I'm too polite to tell him that he was creeping the hell out of me, I answered. I should have just kept looking for pickles ...
At least you weren't looking for cucumbers or he might have even been more aggressive.
On another note, I'm rather distraught over that 3 that Utah hit to beat our women.
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