Today, while I was Christmas shopping, a man with shoulder-length hair, crooked teeth and a goatee, came up to me, placed a giant bird statue at my feet and said, "If you're in need of giant bird, this is the one for you."
He seemed quite proud of his ingenious pick up line and waited eagerly for my response, which went something like this:
*nervous laugh, polite comment, run away, hide behind a shelf*
A little piece of advice to the guys of the world, if you want to pick up a chick, do not present them with a freakishly large seagull. I realize that I'm married and therefore extra immune to being hit on by strange men in a department store, but still, a come-on that includes oversized fowl is never a good idea. Had I been single and looking to mingle in the middle of housewares, that would have been strikes one, two, and three.
Later, while I was feeling up some amazingly soft blankets, he appeared again. "Gettin' two of those, huh?"
This time my response was:
*extra nervous laugh, slightly less polite comment, dash away, dash away, dash away all!*
Apparently my responses conveyed that I was way into him and in want of more bird seduction because he approached me again.
"I'd hate myself if I didn't ask you. What's your name?"
I hesitated for a second before saying, "Sarah."
He probably said his name while we shook hands, but I didn't hear it because the alarm bells were going off in my head.
LIAR! LIAR! LIAR!
My name is not Sarah, you guys. I lied. I am a liar. I am a lying liar who lies. My Moma taught me lying was bad, and I believe her because I felt bad for doing it. However, she does have very little patience for creeps who hit on her. And a creep who hits on her daughter? Well, that guy she'd probably kick in the nuts then beat him with his bird while he was down. So she'd probably be okay with this slight alteration of the truth.
|I know, Tommy. I know. But sometimes it's necessary.|
"It's for my friend."
He seemed awed and incredibly impressed by my gift choosing skills. "So, what do you do?"
Before I could stop myself, I told the truth. "I work in marketing."
"Oh, that's cool. I used to do that, but now..." He began rambling about what he does. Something about going to back to school and media and design or whatever. All I could focus on was what my answer would be when he asked me where I worked. I knew that whether I lied or told the truth he'd look up my company on the internets and when he discovered "Sarah" didn't work there, he'd be filled with rage, which would send his stalker skills into overdrive, propelling him to discover my true identity. And then he'd peck me to death with his bird.
Cuz that 's what stalkers do. They used their birds as weapons.
He told me I had a cute nose, at which point I realized that not only was he a stalker and a creep, but also and idiot. My nose is not cute. It's my worst facial feature. It was my second worst feature until I was thirteen and began waxing my unibrow.
He asked if I lived here. Or maybe he asked if I was from here. I was too panicked at that point to focus and was reduced to offering weird gurgling sounds in response.
"So, what else do you do?"
I wondered how rude it would be, on a scale of one to why-do-I-even-care-about-being-polite, to tell him that I don't like talking to strangers. But before I had a chance to say anything, he looked at my hand and said, "Oh, you're married?"
I answered a simple, "yes." But in my head I was screaming, "Yes! Yes, I am married and all I do is my husband. I work, buy Christmas presents for my friends and family, and DO MY HUSBAND. Now, leave me alone!"
He said it was nice to meet me and I was all, "a pleasure." As he was walking away he told me he was sure my friend would like her gift.
Thanks, dude. I'll be sure to let her know it has the stalker stamp of approval.
I finished my shopping, paid for my items, and headed to my car, when what to my wondering eyes should appear! A Stalker man weaving and bounding right toward me!
I had had enough. Time for Bitch Mode. I held my keys like a weapon, walked with purpose, shot daggers with my eyes, and gave off 'don't eff with me' vibes. He scurried off with his tail between his legs. Or maybe he went to make out with his bird.
Although the whole experience was my personalized version of hell, I don't' blame him for trying. It must be tough to be a guy. The majority of the asking out falls on them. They get rejected 99% of the time (especially when incorporating props into their pick-up routine) but once you know a girl is married, BACK OFF. Don't chase after her like a puppy running through a poppy field.
|Pretend there are poppies in this picture.|
If anyone's looking for any last minute gift ideas for me, I'd like a stalker shield with a bird slaying feature. Just in case.
P.S. To all my friends named Sarah, your name is one I was proud to call my own. I'm sorry I had to use it in such a way.
P.P.S. To all those who participated in the blogger ornament exchange, I am going to host a link-up on Sunday. Hopefully you all will have received your ornaments by then. If not, have no fear! The linky will be open for several days.
Can you please blog about the merits of passing out wine and/or valium at the entrance of stores during the holiday season?! I think it would help society; especially in stores where children are screaming "I want that mommmmmmmyyyyyyy!!!!"