I Hope I'm Not Pregnant

I think I got hit on by the guy working at the Co-op today. Either that or he's just a really weird guy. As I was purchasing my Medical Pharmacology unit reader (I know, late as usual... I hope I'm not pregnant. I stole that line from Lorelai Gilmore), he said to me, "If you're looking for a husband, I make really good coffee." I kind of just stared at him for a moment because I was focussed on making sure I had chosen the least imperfect unit reader (no scuff marks, no bent corners etc.). I was confused.

He smiled at me. I smiled back in a knee jerk reaction. Like how I always say hi back to young hooligans who say hello to me on the street. You reply so as to not get shivved. These are dangerous streets, you hear.

He then started talking about Desperate Housewives as a follow-on from his comment about him making a good husband. He compared himself to Eva Longoria and I said that probably reflects his character.
"Are you taking psych?" he asked.
"Um, no," I said and started trying to shuffle away. He kept talking even though I was halfway out the door and I felt bad. I tossed a smile back then scurried away.

IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME.

Well, it would have been better if he wasn't kind of ugly and generally displeasing to the/my eye. That's so rude of me to say. He was perfectly adequate (for another girl). He was aged though whereas I am a fresh peach that requires a similarly fresh fruit, ripe for the picking.

I came back to edit this post to tell you about this perfectly adequate guy who let me get off the bus before him.
"After you," he said with the most charming of smiles. I'm not going to lie; I looked at his back for five minutes as we walked in the same direction from the bus port. I have fallen in love with Bus Boy. We are to be wed this coming summer. Hydrangeas will be our flower of choice.

He will be the persimmon to my peach, the kiwi to my grape, the cherry to my pop.

J