A very hectic life means that I end up slacking badly on posting here. I really do apologize for that. Sometimes my family is lucky to eat more than cereal for dinner. But I still have an obligation and I am going to do my best to fulfill it. I actually considered putting Tom Foolery Tuesday on hold for a bit. Not that there is any absence of tom foolery in my life, I just can’t share some of it with the world as it can be pretty doggone personal. I don’t think you all need (or want) to know my quite as well as you possibly could if I engaged in some over-sharing. While I am sure someone might get a laugh out of a random PMS-induced rant, I don’t want anyone hurt in the process.
I decided to go through my mental archives to find a story that I could share. I took my oldest son to the dentist for his semi-annual cleaning, when I noticed the man sitting a few chairs over, staring at me. I tried not to turn my head, just watching out of the corner of my eye to make sure he didn’t put a pillowcase over my head and kidnap me. I am a magnet for foolishness, so this could totally happen to me. You have no idea, but I could write a book.
I was hopeful that he would stick with staring, but that would have been too much to ask. He scooted over one seat at a time, slowly, as if I might not notice his less than stealthy approach. I prayed silently that he would not make an attempt at a conversation, but that went unfounded. “Hello”, he said to me, attempting to make his voice sound sultry. *gag* I gave him the death stare, hoping that it would discourage him. “Hi,” I replied icily. I was trying really hard to watch The Incredibles on the plasma television that was hanging in the lobby, and he was ruining it for me. He had an accent, so I assumed he was from somewhere else. He was older than me, maybe around 50 years old with hair graying at his temples.
“Where are you from?” he asked. I rolled my eyes. I must have someone ask me that question at least once every day, and it always serves as a precursor to foolishness. “Buffalo,” I told him. He looked disappointed, probably expecting me to name a more exotic place. “I am from New York as well,” he said, suddenly smiling at what he considered an opportunity to continue the conversation. Did he not see me staring at the television? The Incredibles was being shown, for God’s sake! “You look like a dear friend I had there,” he continued. Here we go with this again. I always look like someone’s long lost friend. Isn’t that the perfect way to get someone talking? Well, I refused to give him the satisfaction. Still silent, I stared at the television. “I almost married her.” More silence from me. “Yes, you look so much like her. Same face, same body and everything.” Why are you looking at my body, strange man? I leaned away from him without taking my eyes off of the television. It was all I could do to keep from elbowing him in his ribs. “Are you married?” he asked, almost seductively. “Yes,” I replied tersely, still refusing to look at him. He exhaled loudly in defeat. “I should have known,” he said quietly, “One look at you, and I should have known you were married. What a shame. That’s too bad.” “Not for me,” I said smugly, and breathed a sigh of relief when the receptionist called his name.