I'm working at home today, for several reasons: 1) I'm feeling a little meh, not sick exactly, just in serious need of vitamins, echinacea, and repose; 2) it's gross out; 3) I have a business trip later this week, and I need to get ready for it; and 4) I can.
However, here's what you should not do, when feeling meh: Walk seven blocks to Starbucks, in the rain, to get your morning coffee -- without an umbrella. Yeah, I'm a genius.
Part of the problem is that I have lost every single one of my umbrellas. When I moved here, I had four, at least. Now I have none. This is because I leave them places. Like bars. The other part of the problem is that I'm a genius, as previously stated, above.
About three blocks into my walk, I realized that I was extremely damp, like hair-running in rivulets, clothes hanging off me like 400-lb. weights, kinda damp. So I sought refuge under an awning. (This after checking two convenience stores to see if they sold umbrellas, but no go. C'mon people. You're missing a big opportunity here! I totally would have spent ten bucks for an umbrella this morning, without even complaining about it.)
While I was standing there, dripping and miserable, a boy sidled up to me, still holding his umbrella, which I should have stolen, and smiling hopefully.
"You sure are wet!" He said, voice cracking. I looked at him from under a snarl of hair. He was about 20 years old, probably a college student, and maybe he was just trying to be nice. Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling especially nice.
"Erg," I said. And ran back into the rain, where at least I wouldn't have to participate in a Sex Ed class.
Later, back at my apartment, I IMed Sean to tell him that, a) much like a turkey, I am too stupid to come in out of the rain, and b) this dude tried to pick me up, maybe, when I was at my very least attractive and most cranky, and what is the matter with people?
"Twenty years old?" Sean said. "Please. He couldn't pick up a shoe. He's just trying shit out. Actually, now that I know how old he was? I have a lot more respect for him. Good for him!"
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I have the same problem with umbrellas. I walk into bars with them, but I never walk out with them. I'm surprised that most bars in the city don't have a free umbrella box near the front door.
ReplyDeleteA flirt is a flirt is a flirt, no matter if he's a cutie-patootie 4-year-old, a plucky college kid or a schmalzy middle-aged man.
ReplyDeleterain makes me want to die
ReplyDeleteCaryn, I object to being characterized as cutie-patootie/plucky/schmalzy. Since you've basically covered the full range of life stages (except for old fart) if I just happen to talk to some random female on the street (“Uh, miss? The ashes from my cigar have caused the ears of your fennec fox to burst into flame. Can I have your phone number?”) that makes me one of those three things simply because I'm a male under 55. Such an insult!
ReplyDeletecan i come live with you in the city? ill be quiet and nice, i swear!
ReplyDeletelpdrjk, I meant no offense. I was just giving examples of flirts, not purporting to be comprehensively inventorying the entire range of flirty personalities.
ReplyDeleteThanks caryn, I’m feeling much better now that you’ve amplified your response and have been able to stop crying long enough to set the box of tissues aside and split a few hairs to establish exactly what age range I could fall into: a clumsy adolescent flirt, a post-graduate disillusioned-but-practiced flirt, a slimy 30something flirt or (as referred to earlier) a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me old fart flirt.
ReplyDelete