Move On. Nothing To Take Home Here.
I’m at the courthouse waiting for the elevator and a creepy man comes up to me. He looks at my computer bag which has a tag on it that reads: mine. He laughs in this flirty way and says, “What does that mean?”. I don’t look at him because I secretly loathe men, (I suppose my secret is out now), and I roll my eyes and say, “It means it is mine”. I say this while tapping my bag toward me. He laughs again, in that creepy sort of way that I can only guess is flirting, and what do you know? .. That weirdo gets on the elevator with me. Great. He proceeds to laugh about how wonderfully cute my tag is. I, of course, being the man hatter I am, still do not look at him.
Hello. My name is Cindi.
Today I crushed a mans dreams. It felt wonderful.
Seriously, I sort of feel bad. He was trying. I’m just the wrong person. If you’re a man and you come up to talk to me in a place that should be the last place you pick up women – (a court room? Come on) – then I will be my usual man hating self. All walls will be up, with archers at the ready.
First, creepy man…
Second, this is what I think of most men.
Third, here is what he was trying to use to talk to me.