Hit on

I was driving to St. Louis with Gretchen three weekends ago when we stopped in Columbia, Missouri for some gas at Quiktrip (a fine establishment). I got out and began to pump my gas. All of a sudden, this dude on the other side of the pump, filling his car, says to me, "Nice car." It took me a second to realize he was speaking to me, mainly because I was driving Gretchen's 2003 Honda Civic. No offense to Gretchen and other Civic owners, but a Civic just isn't the type of car that one gets complimented on. My pump stopped and I got back in the car.

I didn't pick up on anything until Gretchen piped up and said, "Was that guy talking to you?" I said yes and he told me I had a nice car. "I think he was hitting on you," she said. I thought a moment and then all the pieces fell into place. Yes, he WAS hitting on me. The guy was scrawny, with glasses, and you could consider him slightly effeminate. Our squeegees awkwardly met at the water bin hanging on the column. He complimented me on "my" Honda Civic. I was hit on by a gay man.

This is not a problem at all. I think it's happened a couple times before. And trust me, I'm flattered. I'm either good-looking enough or gay-looking enough to be hit on. I'll assume good-looking. (When I think back, when I said, "Actually, it's my fiancee's..." that probably sent the no-go signal to the guy. Who knows where it would have ended up at that point? Sharing a taquito, perhaps, Lady and the Tramp-style?)