Today I had a shy day. They’re rare, but when they hit it’s like a power outage, nothin’ happenin’ with social activity. On the drive home, I was glad to be in my car with no one to see me and notice how much I didn’t want to be noticed. I was when Tommy Tutone’s Jenny came on the radio. You know…
(867-5309) and for whatever ridiculous reason, I thought that the next time someone asked for my number, It would be funny to say say
281 (I’m from houston)
867- fiftythree zero nine. And if and only if they got it, I would give them my actual number (because yes, I’m pursuing singleness but I wouldn’t mind making friends in a group with someone hip enough to get the reference of a suh-weet eighties pop song).
And the first problem with this, I thought, was that I was assuming that someone would ask me for my number. Isn’t that rather haughty?
About ten minutes later, I get home, start walking from my car to my apartment and accidentally ( i swear, i was looking at my feet and had bundles of stuff in my arms) get in a twenty minute conversation with the guy down the hall while he’s perfecting the cleanliness of his Lexus, at the end of which
he asks for my number.
But today, I don’t get sassy about it. Because today, I’m having a VERY shy day. So the whole conversation I’m just kinda chewing on my lip, blinking my terrified-wide eyes, probably looking incredibly taken aback by his charm and completely unable to deflect when, three times, he mentions we should go out for a drink. And unable to find an out. I mean, I wasn’t UNinterested in what he had to say, or making friends, BUT WE HAVE COVERED THIS AND I DON’T NEED ANY MALE FRIENDS.
So now, I’m no longer plotting how to slip someone the wrong number,
I’m wondering what I’m going to do when the (oh did I mention) handsome, smart, well-employed man to whom I stumblingly batty-eyed GAVE MY ACTUAL number, calls me.
God help me, if he plays guitar….