Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Freak Magnet
I have always been a freak magnet. There was the guy in the dog park who told me he'd never get his dog chipped because it was big brother's way of finding him. There was the lady who stopped me on the street when I was 8 months pregnant to tell me how she used to sell her breastmilk to her doctor in exchange for medical services. (A lot of people tell you a lot of weird things when you are pregnant, but that is another post entirely.)
I am the person people always choose to talk to on an airplane.
People sit next to me on park benches when there is an empty one close by.
Why? I have no idea. Here is what I do know: Chloe amplifies the magnetic force by a thousand times.
Today, we went on a walk. Just me and freak magnet jr. It was a nice sunny day, unusually warm for this time of year. We went to the bank, and a nut job struck up a conversation with me. First, he hit on me with a really bad line about me and Chloe having beautiful eyes. Why on earth would this guy hit on a woman sporting a wedding ring, a spit up stained shirt, and a 7 month old baby?
Have you ever noticed that time seems to stop when standing in line at the bank or post office? All I wanted to do was deposit a check and get on with my errands, and this guy was talking my ear off. He asked me about my future reproductive plans (really, none of his damn business), and went on about Johnny Jumpers and some wired CD image projector thing on eBay.
I eventually got out of there, and I thought, you know, even as a very happily married woman, I usually enjoy those rare moments I get hit on (and I laugh about them with Martin)...they add a little sass to my step and make me feel like I've still got it. Today though, it just made me feel worse. He wasn't exactly Brad Pitt, and definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed. I was wearing old faded jeans, muddy shoes, and the aforementioned spit up stained shirt. I had no make up on. I may not have brushed my hair. It occurred to me that he felt I was in his league. I think I need an Oprah makeover.
I am the person people always choose to talk to on an airplane.
People sit next to me on park benches when there is an empty one close by.
Why? I have no idea. Here is what I do know: Chloe amplifies the magnetic force by a thousand times.
Today, we went on a walk. Just me and freak magnet jr. It was a nice sunny day, unusually warm for this time of year. We went to the bank, and a nut job struck up a conversation with me. First, he hit on me with a really bad line about me and Chloe having beautiful eyes. Why on earth would this guy hit on a woman sporting a wedding ring, a spit up stained shirt, and a 7 month old baby?
Have you ever noticed that time seems to stop when standing in line at the bank or post office? All I wanted to do was deposit a check and get on with my errands, and this guy was talking my ear off. He asked me about my future reproductive plans (really, none of his damn business), and went on about Johnny Jumpers and some wired CD image projector thing on eBay.
I eventually got out of there, and I thought, you know, even as a very happily married woman, I usually enjoy those rare moments I get hit on (and I laugh about them with Martin)...they add a little sass to my step and make me feel like I've still got it. Today though, it just made me feel worse. He wasn't exactly Brad Pitt, and definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed. I was wearing old faded jeans, muddy shoes, and the aforementioned spit up stained shirt. I had no make up on. I may not have brushed my hair. It occurred to me that he felt I was in his league. I think I need an Oprah makeover.
