Depending on how this whole I'm-in-the-rat-race-now-and-I've-sold-my-soul-for-fiscal-security thing goes, this may or may not become a thing.
So irregardless of how absolutely gorgeous I am, it still shocks me when guys hit on me for no reason. I mean, obviously there's always a reason, but a lot of the time, I like it to be an obvious one. I don't, really. I don't know why I said that. I think I'm secretly a control freak and just like to know everything. That must be it. That must also be the reason why anonymous commenters annoy me. I like to look at your name, your profile, read your blog...can't do that when you're anonymous. *shrugs* Oh well. I suppose then I would be able to hunt you down as well, so I guess privacy and whatnot is a good thing.
So yes, the reason. Usually, there is one. Sometimes, the twins are making new friends. Or, we're the only people who don't know everyone at the party. Or, you're cute, so I go out of my way to say hello. Either way...there's usually a reason. But today...there was no reason. I'm in a jacket that covers everything between my chin and my pelvis in a thick non-curve showing layer. I had my don't-bother-me-I'm-reading-plus-you-stole-half-of-my-table-you-punk mug on. We weren't in a club/at a wedding/working a speed-dating event.
I left the office to go have lunch at The Place - you know, the one with the excellent sausages. Since I was alone, I left the office well-armed with my current literary preoccupation, A Closed Book by Gilbert Adair, generously lent to me by the (apparently generous) egregious @woozie_m (he isn't actually. I just wanted to use that word. Isn't it weird how it means both remarkably bad and extraordidarily good?)
It was pretty full. So I sat on the table I wanted that had four seats. Considering the popularity of the place, someone was bound to ask me to share. I hate sharing tables at restaurants. I mean. Dude. I'm sitting here alone for a reason. Clearly I do not desire company, unless I'm waiting for it, in which case there's no point in you asking to share. Then when there's a stranger sitting with you, there's an annoying pressure to make small talk or smile when your eyes meet, like some awkward blind date. I hate such things. Also, if I was doing something, say, scratching my toe, putting an evil plan for world domination into effect or reading a book while using half of the table, I can't do that anymore because of YOU. GRRR.
In spite of the slight anger expressed in the above paragraph, I still don't have enough steam to go on (usually) to stop someone from sitting at my empty tables. So this dude sits down. I pretty much ignore him in favour of Gilbert. When he's done with his meal, he begins to talk.
'That must be a pretty good book.'
I look up. 'Yeah.' Look back down.
'What's it about?'
My momma brought me up right. (I think. Ha.) If I meet a stranger, I don't talk to them. However,in some situations, I'm forced to be polite. Like this sharing table nonsense. Which could be prevented if I had just said I don't want to share a table. *sighs* I told him what the book is about. He then dragged me into a conversation with him, kicking and screaming, when he said 'I never read fiction.' I hold such people in incredulous surprise. I took the bait.
We talked for a bit. He told me what he does. Asked polite, intelligent I'm-a-good-listener questions. Kept his eyes well above what he must have approximated to be Twin Area. As did I, above Ring Area. I really should have looked (you would think I'd've learnt by now). Not that it matters, seeing as, you know, he's a stranger. He casually slipped me his card and asked for mine. (I want a card, damnit. In other news.) He gave me advice on life and careers...he's lived an interesting one, of course. Did I mention he probably has a child right around the age I don't like? (i.e. anywhere from 0-17) (Ok,15,because I like Justin Bieber. :D) He told me an interesting theory about how the less you pay for your scurity, the more likely your guards are to liaise with thieves to rob you. It made sense.
He waited for me to finish eating. The bill came. I paid my own. He didn't offer. Which means the speech to preserve my dignity that I had rapidly concocted in expectation went to waste. *sighs* He said, with a shy smile, that he wants to have lunch again. I said something vague in agreement and hope he didn't hear because I didn't mean to agree. We both got up. We walked. He shook my hand. I walked away.
He wasn't ati bad looking. And I didn't hate his shoes, which is usually one of the first signs that nothing is going to happen, thanks to @MuriMuriz.
I bet he's gonna call me. And has a criminal record or something disastrously wrong with his otherwise...nice persona.