“Oh come on,” Marge said, “surely some of them are nice guys.”
“You’d be surprised,” I told her. “In my experience, the nice guys are either too polite or tend to think I’m out of their league and don’t even try. It’s mostly the horn dogs and creeps who make the moves.”
“I can’t believe a woman who looks like you doesn’t get approached by handsome guys. What about them?”
“In some ways, Marge, they’re as bad or worse. The ones I’ve met think they’re God’s gift to women – that I should be grateful just to be seen with them. What’s worse, they’ll toss you aside in a heartbeat for the next pretty face that comes along.”
At that moment, our waitress reappeared and set another wine spritzer in front of me. “I didn’t order that,” I said in confusion.
“I know,” the waitress said. “That guy asked me to bring it over,” she said, gesturing back over my shoulder.
I should have known better but I glanced in that direction only to see a heavy-set businessman bearing down on me. He grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table and, after giving Marge a cursory nod, sat down facing me. “Hey, my name is Al,” he said, “you look like you could use some company.”
I heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Al,” I said politely, “but I already have company. My girlfriend and I just want to relax and talk in private.”
He didn’t even turn his florid face in Marge’s direction. “Aw, that doesn’t sound like much fun. Listen, let’s have a couple of drinks together and then we’ll go some place where we can find a little more action.”
“No,” I said firmly, “I’m not interested.”
“Come on, baby,” he said, grabbing my hand in his sweaty palm, “you could have a lot more fun with me than with her.”
I glanced over at Marge with an “I told you so” expression, then turned back to the creep. “How long ago did you move to this country?” I asked him blandly.
He looked at me in confusion. “Hunh? What? I never moved here – I was born in America.”
“And yet you never learned the meaning of the word “no,” I said in mock disbelief.
Marge laughed out loud, and the guy’s face turned even redder. He stood up so quickly that he knocked the chair over. Picking it up hastily, he turned and stalked away. As he left, we could hear him mutter, “Damned dyke!”
I turned back to Marge. “Now do you believe me?”
“Wow, that was pretty ugly,” she said, still snickering at the guy’s hasty retreat.
“And that was with zero encouragement on my part,” I went on. “You can just imagine what would happen if I’d given out any positive signals. And it’s not just making eye contact, I have to be careful about what I wear too. If I don’t want that kind of attention I have to pick what I wear carefully so I don’t inadvertently expose too much skin.”
Marge started to respond, but I was on a roll and pressed on. “Here’s another thing: I saw you react when I ordered the wine spritzer, but I always have to be careful about how much I drink. I can’t afford to relax in social situations, I have to be constantly on my guard to make sure I don’t attract unwanted attention. It’s like I told you, looking like I do is like being on probation – one little mistake and I’m in trouble again.”
wpDiscuz