Boys

Have you ever felt that the whole world knew something that you didn't? Like there was a secret that had somehow failed to reach your ears? Or perhaps you had a label scrawled across your forehead that had appeared there or been placed by some higher being that everyone else can see but you can't.
Well, yesterday made 2 days out of the past three where a gentleman has hit on me. Now, I know what you may be thinking. Um, hello?! Isn't this a good sign? You're ready to be out there . . . embrace these weirdos. I mean, they're not exactly weirdos, but, well, let me explain.
The first came as quite a surprise when I answered the door in my bright orange sweatpants and t-shirt (that has orange in it as well. I was wayyy matchy matchy. eew.). Mind you, I had to open the door without stepping on the tile because there was wet cement where our tile once was. (one of the many remodeling projects I get to witness upon this blessed move home.) So, I look ridiculous as it was, holding the door from the side, and wearing the bright orange pants. The, what could only be described as, boy, fired off, as soon as I opened the door with, "Hey, you from Hawaii?" This was what was printed on my shirt. I look at my skin and think, "Hawaii? Ha!" But I proceeded with, "No, just a shirt with Hawaii written on it." Was he shot down? Oh, no. The following takes place.
B: Oh, well, I'm from...(can't remember the whole spiel). Can I ask you a few questions?
M: I'm sorry, but I don't live here. Well, I just moved back here so I'm afraid I'll be of no help.
B: Really? Where'd you come from?
M: CA.
B: Oohh, CA. What part?
M: Just north of LA, in a smaller community called Simi Valley.
B: What brought you to CA?
M: I went to school out there. Pepperdine. Just stayed out there a while after I graduated. (hinting towards my definite older age)
B: Cool, well, can I stop by later?
M: Excuse me?
B: Sorry (blushing). To talk to your parents.
M: Sure, they'll be home in about an hour.
B: Thanks, you have a great day. So nice to meet you. (hand out for a shake)
So there's instance one. Apparently to a 12-year old, I'm hot stuff.

The next situation caused me a few more butterflies, but he wasn't as forward. I was sitting in Starbucks, as I'm prone to doing these days to relax, unwind and pass the time, reading my Harry Potter book 5, when this ponytailed older man (around 30, I would presume) sweeps in and sits right next to me on the comfy couch. I think to myself, "Ponytail? Really? I have to check this one out." And let me tell you . . . his face was like a Greek god. Chiseled, almost modelesque. The ponytail was soon forgotten as he got out this old Sheryl Crow CD that no one I know owns. I comment on it, and our conversation turns to light chit chat. Then I read my book and stopped to look up every now and then because let's face it, I'm a stare-er. Always have been and probably always will be. The hour I was there, between the talks and stares, there was a fly that we both tried to get to stop buzzing around us, as if it was buzzing in the path of a heart to show our budding love. Then again, maybe not. But he was nice to look at and seemed to be a kind person.

And with these two examples in mind, it causes me to wonder . . .have I got "single, super available and desperately seeking mate" written across my forehead?