Monday, April 30, 2007

Toucha-toucha-toucha touch me...I wanna be dirty.

Do my readers and other hangers on realize just how attractive I am? I'm not just hot, I'm hawt. I gots it goin' on.

I don't only know this because I look in the mirror everyday but because I seem to be the object of physical affection coming from strangers in public. There is just something about me that screams, "Touch me, I like it!" I think it's the dorky look on my face.

Two weeks ago, while I was out to breakfast with my visiting sisters, I was offered a hug from a dark man with a Indian accent in the next booth. After considering it, for all of a half second, I politely declined. He seemed disappointed, but did not offer to buy my breakfast.

Yesterday, while I was in the buffet restaurant line for breakfast, I was given a sudden and particularly squooshy hug from an older woman wearing a dowdy dress. While this assault on my person was happening, I couldn't figure out if I knew this woman in a past life or not.

Turns out I didn't know the woman, she was just swayed by how well I'd passed my attractive genetics to my three boys. She shared that she had seven children of her own, six of them boys. She thanked me for raising a lovely Christian family.

The Lord must have revelated my religious affiliation with her, because I sure didn't mention it. She goes on to tell me her life story, with her arm about my waist.

She had a bunch of kids, they had a bunch of grandkids, there were some great-grandkids and a few dogs in the mix too. She'd been married to her high school sweetheart since puberty. They've finished raising children. They like my town and have fun at the casinos.

Praise God.

Three of her children and several grandchildren either were in Iraq, or had been to Iraq, or were planning to go to Iraq. She gave her sons to the cause but wondered about the female grandchildren not married and "over there." I wondered if any of them were in the military or they figured Iraq was safer than staying home.

Her youngest son...the All American boy...the prom king and the quarterback...sadly, he was in the process of divorce from his own highschool sweetheart.

I commisserated.

Yes, this boy of hers was divorcing and his three kids were devastated. It's a terrible thing to not have a father at home after a divorce, so he tried to commit suicide and take the kids with him...


She whispered into my ear that he had received a fifteen year sentence.

Not allowing a second for awkward silence after that bit of TMI, she unleashed me, warmly complimented my family and walked into the restaurant. Justin raised his eyes at me and asked, "Do you know her?" to which I replied, "Praise God, no."

The next time I'm out and about, I fully expect to be accosted by band of polygamous Nepalese sheep herders while eating a bowl of raisin bran.

I'm just their type.

1 comment:

  1. That is bizarre. The moral of this story? The prom king and quarterback types must be avoided strenuously.


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