pick-up artist

I’m Sexy and I Know It

So a weird thing happened to me today:

I think I was hit on. I can’t say for sure because I haven’t been hit on in a really long time. I believe the last person who hit on me was my husband, and we’ve been together over 10 years.

I was driving to a Zumba class and stopped at a red light. A truck pulled up beside me in the left hand lane, and the guy in the passenger seat knocked on his door to get my attention. I looked over, and he smiled and wiggled his fingers at me. At first, I thought oh that’s so and so…wait, who is that?  Did I know him? Nope. My brain’s facial recognition scan came up short so I asked him, all puzzled-like, “Do I know you?” And he shook his head no and I said “Oh, okay” and the light turned green, and I took off to him shouting “I was being polite.”

Weird right? I am by no means a head turner. I never was, and now that I’m nearing middle age, my interaction with the opposite sex has been mainly of the “here you go, ma’am” kind. I can’t show you what I really look like since I’m all about shielding my true identity on this blog, but I somewhat resemble her:

This is the crazy cat lady from The Simpsons

Well, I was wearing my workout clothes so this best represents what I looked like at the time of the alleged pick up:

Replace the unitard with a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants and you’re golden.

Now, I’m not saying I’m blahsville to elicit any “What are you talking about?!? You’re so pretty, You go grrlll!” kind of responses in the comment area (but please post them if you feel an unbelievable urge, and make sure the grrlll has the adequate number of r’s and l’s), I’m painting a realistic picture so you can help me decipher this gonzo interaction. I have a toddler who woke me up at 4:45 this morning, and I look like that happens on a daily basis. I’m also just generally unapproachable because I cover myself in barbed wire to protect against unexpected hugs or spontaneous displays of jocularity.

I’ve never been really good at reacting to pick up lines. In my 20’s I was the girl scowling in the corner, waiting for the cab she called to come pick her up and take her away from the nightmare known as “the club scene.” If a gentleman happened to try his magic line on me, I normally responded with a guffaw and then ran and hid in the ladies room.

So I’m not quite sure what pick-up truck man intended. Was he just being polite? Do people still wave and smile at total strangers just to let them know that we’re all in this soon-to-be zombie apocalypse together? Or was he trying to car jack me?

It is a mystery.

But what I do know is tomorrow I will be doubling up on the barbed wire.