Last week, while in Port Angeles, I was picking up a burger from Diary Queen for the ferry ride back to Victoria. This is not a large diner and there were just two other customers; a 30 year old guy with one of those scary uneven backwoods beards (with matching eyebrows) sitting with a plump 55+ woman. We noticed each other. Then they started staring at me, and pointing; animated talking and more staring.
Why are they talking about me? Face free of food? Check. Cool clothes and leather jacket? Check. Carrying a backpack full of manga? Check.
The guy gets up and walks right up next to me. He’s up inside my personal space with a look on his face that tells me he doesn’t have all his rocks in his polisher. “”Look mama, she’s real tall.” He shouts, looking at me with a dopey grin. “You’re tall,” He tells me.
Bad news. The whole stare and point thing has become clear. Beard-o had taken a “shine” to me. I nod and smile.
“I ain’t seen you round here before.”
Nod and smile and grab the burger bag.
“You’re tall.” He doesn’t realize he’s said this already, “Sure is lots round here.”
The woman is up and out of her chair. “Get the door for the nice lady Junior.” She shouts.
Evade! Escape! If “mama’s” telling Junior to be nice it means that Beard-o has already been turned down by every girl within 40 miles. It means his mama has been telling him for five years that “There’s a girl out there just right for you.” And now I know why their eyes both lit up when I walked into DQ. I am God-sent; I am Junior’s last hope.
I keep walking. But I’m listening for the sound of a backwoods pickup and the pump action of a shotgun. If I hear mama saying, “She’s got strong bones” or “breeding hips,” it's time to run.
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7 hours ago