On the way to pick up my son, I made a quick stop at the grocery store. Just routine, minding my own business. Walking across the parking lot, there was a man walking towards me carrying his plastic bags of groceries.
I made brief eye contact and nodded as we passed, as is considered polite here in the South.
He came to a halt and turned to address me as I went by. “Hey, how you doing! Haven’t seen you in a while!”
I turned back to him, confused—I didn’t recognize him. “Hi…?”
“You’re Lisa, right?”
“No, I’m Bertha.”
Not at all put off, he went on cheerfully, “Nice to meet you!”
“Nice to meet you,” I replied, already turning back toward the store.
“Can I get your number?”
“No,” I said, adding, “I have to go.” My kid was waiting for me and I didn’t want to invest a lot of time fending off this pick-up attempt.
This is the problem with wearing a wedding ring. The better class of men generally don’t try to pick up married women, so you’re left with the ratty guys trying to hit on you in the parking lot. Not terribly flattering to the old ego, ya know.
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