So as seen from my previous post, you might be getting the impression that I am somewhat of a magnet for attracting random men who have novel (or scary) pickup lines and who are extremely persistent.
You would be right.
My polite midwestern upbringing is partially to blame, because apparently even when I think I am being bitchy and standoffish, my friends have informed me that it's not so successful.
But that alone cannot explain incidents like The Lumberjack.
I went out to one of the trendy 'burbs of my new city to meet an old friend from college for brunch, gossip, and shopping. So far so good right? It was one of those picture perfect fall days in a quaint old town with brick streets, good restaurants and the aforementioned shopping. When we were done, my friend (we'll call her The Event Planner) and I parted ways and I made my way back to the train station.
Enter The Lumberjack.
I was walking down the street, lost in my own thoughts and minding my own business, when an older man said hello to me. I automatically said hello back and kept walking.
He turned around and walked back toward me and said, "Hey can I ask you a question?" "Are you married?"
I replied no.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
I replied yes. This is a complete and utter lie, but my usual default when I sense a persistent come on that I am wholly uninterested in.
"Oh, bummer. Is it a committed relationship?"
Yes. (Another lie).
"Can I just tell you something? I don't want you to think I'm a creepy sex maniac or anything, but I just have to tell you that you have the most beautiful backside of any woman I have ever seen."
Me: Gaping shock, complete loss of words for any kind of appropriate response
But he doesn't stop there.
"Do you get hit on a lot by guys in the street? I bet you do."
(Well yes, this is true, and I am still not sure why. Any "backside" I might possess cannot possibly be a complete explanation for such weirdness.)
"Do you get hit on by more black guys or white guys?" (For the record, this fellow was white. Which did make it unusual. Far it be from me to perpetuate a stereotype, but in my personal experience, I get many more, shall we say positive, comments on my, um, backside, from black men than white.)
He proceeded to walk me to the train station, the better apparently to plead his case for our future. I found out a variety of unsolicited information about him, such as:
He is a lumberjack. He currently makes $9.88 an hour but is supposed to get a raise to $11/hour soon.
He is a weightlifter and can bench press 300 pounds.
He is the 13th of 14 children. The 14th is actually his nephew who was adopted by his parents and is allegedly a raging alcoholic who cannot run his life.
He is 49 years old and has never been married. If he had it to do over again he would go to college.
He had gone to some sort of New Age-y church that morning.
He would like to have children someday and inquired about my plans to do so.
Interspersed in all of this biographical information were many comments about how he just couldn't get over what a great butt I had, that he was a "butt man," how I looked "physical," how much I weighed (um, as IF I would ever in a million years tell him, although he was happy to tell me he was "six three 240", that I carried my weight really well, and that he doesn't like how skinny girls are today), whether my boyfriend was white or black, etc. etc.
Then, when I was finally about to break free...
"So, if you didn't have a boyfriend that you were seriously considering marrying would you give me your number?"
(Um. No.)
"Do you ever think you'll come out here again? How can I see you?"
(Um. You can't.)
"Can I at least get a hug?"
(Um. NO NO NO.)
Finally I made my escape. I think my next project is to befriend a cop who will find me a taser to carry. Because obviously my "bitchy" look just ain't cutting it.
