I have been pursued at just about any random establishment, professional function or social event you can imagine. I’ve heard some of the most creative “pick-up” lines ever created by men and women. Yet, I am always pleasantly surprised when I am picked up in a grocery store, a mega-store to be more specific. The most recent instance of adoration occurred at the friendly, neighborhood, Red Bulls-Eye. I was chillin in the car waiting for my daughter to return from grabbing a few must-haves (anything and everything a teenager thinks of at the spur of the moment is a “must have”). I realized that I could eliminate a trip to the grocer by running in and grabbing a few items myself. And there, on the baking and spices aisle, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him notice me. It was quick. The average eye would have missed it. Alas, I have trained optical sensory perception. The double-back was nearly instantaneous. (You know the “double-back”. Don’t play me like that. I’ve used quotations three times already, foolin around with you.) He strolled down the aisle, young and inviting, and proceeded to entice me with velvety words and sparkling eyes. I have no idea what he said. I was looking for cake mix. All I remember is that I initially looked at his attire – shirt and tie – and his walkie talkie, and then I mumbled something to him about security. That is not offensive! I did military intel for four years. Why else would he be dressed in a shirt and tie perusing the grocery aisle of a mega store at nine-thirty at night with time to talk to a curvaceous cutie? Anyway, I gave him the 10 (ten digits mayn… damn, you are slow tonight) and proceeded to pick out frosting.
Well, my spidey senses must have taken a nap. I could not have foreseen what was coming next. He leaned in and kissed me. Not on the lips, but not exactly a peck on the cheek either. It was what I would call a side-swipe. He brushed his cheek flat against mine as he puckered and landed. THAT is a side-swipe, reserved only for revolving door exes and Idris Elba (should I ever be so lucky). I was taken aback and I smiled a nervous smile. You know the one where you squint one eye slightly wondering if you should check him, deck him or wreck him then sweep up the remains. I decided to blow it off. It was late and I had already given that fool my phone number. I rationalized that maybe he was excited an older woman had given him some play. Who knows? He turned and skipped along down the aisle before I could change my mind and cuss him out. The next day he called and left a message – the usual so-glad-to-have-met-you message. I returned the call later and got his voicemail. The next day he started texting. I engaged him for a few rounds until something quite odd occurred. He called me, “baby”. My reflexes kicked in simultaneously with my utter disbelief. I scratched the back of my head; eventhough I had just washed my hair the night before. I looked to the left and to the right. Then I asked myself, “Did he just call me ‘baby’?”. As fast as my thumbs could fly, I replied, “Please don’t call me ‘baby’. I’m not comfortable with terms of affection. I just met you a couple of days ago.” To which he responded, “Okay, honey. Whatever you say.” Blood/Boiling/Now. I’d like to tell you that even after I ignored the blatant stupidity that ensued and asked him to stop texting me altogether, he got the hint. I’d like to tell you that he stopped texting after I refused to respond to a string of texts on the days following. And, I’d like to tell you that he stopped calling after a week of nonresponse. The truth is, I don’t remember. I just remember the utter disbelief that washed over me each time he texted me with yet another term of endearment in a jokey-joke kinda way.
Tell me. What possesses someone, a would be suitor no less, to ignore the simplest request of a lady in waiting? It certainly gives me no comfort that you would honor a future request to remove the gag from my mouth and my bound body from railroad tracks with the impending approach of a train – a surefire end to a relationship that begins with ignorance on your part in such gross proportions. A younger me would have probably told myself, “Oh, he’s just messing around. Give him the benefit of the doubt.” Nah, that’s not exactly true. Those would have been the words of my college roommate. To whom I would have replied, “Hell no! I ain’t givin him nuthin but the dial tone.” My daughter says those are my two favorite words together – hell and no. LOL! (She says it with caution too.) Let it be known for the record that I like the word ‘baby’. Let it also be known that ‘sweetie’, ‘darling’, ‘honey’, ‘brown sugar’ (did I let that one slip?), or any cutesy pet name that doesn’t make the man wooing me sound gay, is a winner. However, can that man at least be a steady fixture in my life as opposed to a ran-dumb stranger seeking my affections? Please? Pretty please? Lest, I mark DNA next to his name in my phone. Wait for it… Wait for it… Do Not Answer.
Some of you undoubtedly will peg this as my fault for sharing the 10. What can I say? I’m a risk taker. He could have been my next… my next… aw hell, you got me. I should have used more caution and better judgment. Hindsight is a blind lady with ESP. Next time, I’ll stay out the sandbox at Tahr-jay.
Persnickety Self-Adjustment: Follow your first mind and stay in the car next time.
(The term DNA is courtesy of my new, sassy friend, R.C.)