Mr Waterstone

Mr. Waterstone’s

I was at my hang out looking for books despite promising myself no more books until I’ve thrown out a few at home. But alas ….I am weak. Sue me, I like to read.

I was bent over looking at the Film section when a man came up and said that he thought I was gorgeous. I don’t know how he could think this as a) I’m not and b) he only saw my ….ah! OK I get it. Waterstones really need to stop having such low book shelves.

So I say thanks and he says he’s sure I hear that all the time. I say no and no woman can ever hear it too often. He says that my husband is a very lucky man. I say yes that he is very lucky (sorry Fuhu but in my head you do already exist?) and move the book over my ring finger as he tries to ascertain if indeed I am married.

He turns to go and then comes back. He says, “Tell your husband….that he’s got competition”

Now let me take a step back. The man reminds me of the Tim ‘nice but dim’ Harry Enfield character from the 80s (youngsters, google it). Or the guy that does that Pimms O’clock advert.  He’s no looker, has slightly buck teeth, a sloany voice and a dinner jacket on. And yet somehow I’m flattered and blushing?

To be a fair a compliment is a compliment. There was no nigistent request for my number or an attempt to give me his.  There was no attempt to graze my butt or touch my hip or steer me with his hand on the small of my back. Yes guys, we know what you are doing. Look with your eyes not with your hands.

But, as I remember those teeth I can’t help but think….dating recession has been hard y’all.

© Chelsea Black.