Thursday, July 29, 2010

I'm sorry, now that I'm married, I don't date

We arrived at equestrian camp on Monday at the same time as a darling little boy and his dad.  At pick-up that day, the little boy's mom, dad and little brother were all there to get him.  We visited waiting for the kids to finish.

Tuesday, I'm walking Spence into the building as "dad" is walking out.  We say hi and - hold on a minute - Did you just look me up and down, man?!  Ok. Ok. Surely not.  And, if so, it's probably because I'm wearing exercise clothes and you're embarrassed for me that I'm out in public.

Later at pick-up, again, I'm walking in as he's walking out and he says, low and gravelly and almost directly into my ear (No. Surely not.  I'm making that up, right?!  Right?!), "How was your day?" "Good." "Well, that's good to hear." Shake it off, Ali.  And, for the love of God, get. over. yourself.  You probably think the mailman comes to your house every day because he wants to see you, too.  Or the sacker at the grocery store - you know, he's always trying to walk me out to my car...  "Conceited, party of one?"

Wednesday, we drop the boys about the same time and head out to the parking lot.  I get to my car door and.  BOOM.  "Dad" is standing at my door. Red flag!  Red flag!  Stranger Danger!

"Hey, I was wondering... Do you want to give me your number? [beat.  beat. As I look at him in stunned silence]  We could get the boys together sometime."

Now honestly, my naivet√© knows almost no bounds.  But, even I can recognize that this exchange should make me uncomfortable since the entirety of it occurred while he stared at my boobs.  Honest to goodness.  I am not making this up.

I said, "Sure," because, obviously, you have to literally set me on fire before I would want to hurt your feelings or make you feel bad.  (Seriously, what is wrong with me?!)  He whips out his phone and takes my number. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I get in my car and have two schools of thought:  1)  Get over yourself. (reference entire conversation with myself from the day before); or, 2)  There are creepy people in this world.  And, how do I know this isn't the "dance" that married people do when they want to "date"?

But, I also think, I am not making up the fact that we just had an entire conversation with his eyes on my chest.  And, he's a grown man.  Whether my chest is spectacular or not, he should be able to exert enough self-control to not blatantly stare.  (And, P.S. my chest is not spectacular - which is probably why I was so caught off guard that he wanted to stare!)

I'm also reminded of a Designing Women episode when Mary Jo freaks out at a man in the parking garage because she thinks he's going to attack her.  It turns out he's a client she's never met, but he's seen her picture and just wanted to introduce himself.  She's terribly embarrassed, but he's the one who apologizes saying, he should have known better than to follow her and make her uncomfortable.  And, any man who has a mother or a sister or a wife would much rather she yell and risk embarrassment than become a victim. (Yeah, that's right, I just used Designing Women's powerful life lesson.)  So, really, shouldn't this husband, this son, be a little more aware of the way he is making women feel?  Would he want someone giving his wife the "oogies" in the horse camp parking lot?

Anyway, back to the story...  Of course, this is the day I don't have my phone with me.  When I get home I have a missed call and text.  This is the text:

I'm sorry, Creepy VonCreepster, did you just say, "meet up sometime"?  Don't you mean "GET THE BOYS TOGETHER?!"

So, finally, FINALLY, I have my first moment of clarity and I send him this:
P.P.S.  "he's much better @ getting spence together w/ his buddies" bwahahahahahahaha!

And now I think, "I have got to talk to Shawn.  He'll tell me if I'm overreacting or if this man is officially creepy since he's set my instincts a-buzzing four times now.  At the very least, if this is just the most clueless man in all the kingdom and really is just trying to set up a playdate, I need to tell Shawn I just gave out his number."  (Yes. I do have long, run-on sentence conversations with myself in my head.)

Shawn's on a call when I try the office so I text him.  "Dad at horse camp is creeping me out.  Asked for my number to 'get the boys together' so I gave him yours, too."

I got this response:

Well, now I feel like a 13-year old girl who needs to be told not to accept rides from strange men.

My phone rang about 30 seconds later with Shawn wanting the full details. Then, Shawn spent the entire evening answering my phone every time it rang. And "Dad" hasn't been too interested in chatting me up since I gave him my husband's number...  So, maybe I didn't overreact too much...

Anyway, we're all going to have a happy little reunion at the end-of-camp performance this afternoon.  I really look forward to the realization in "Dad's" eyes as he has the thought, "Oh.  Your husband could crush me."  Or, best case scenerio, he is just the most clueless man that ever lived.  In that case, he'll probably try to set up that playdate...



**Post-camp addendum:  Well, Creepy VonCreepster it is!  He stayed no less than 20 yards from Shawn and me at all times during the end-of-camp program.  I said to Shawn, "Well, the way he's avoiding us makes me think that he knew he was being inappropriate."  Shawn looked at me in-that-way-he-looks-at-me-when-he's-trying-to-figure-out-if-I-could-have-actually-said-what-I-just-said and said, "You think?!"

15 comments:

Mont said...

"I meet you this morning." Typo = Russian, or creepy. Or Creepy-Russian.

Ali said...

I choose option "C".

Anna said...

What a freak! I wonder if he reads your blog? Just in case..."Hey 'Supa-Creep" who can't keep 'it' under control, get a grip and pour some cold water on yourself! And if that doesn't work, stand behind a horse and scream suddenly and see if that helps." That should take care of him, Ali. You can thank me later. ;-)

Ali said...

Thank you, Anna! Unfortunately, I don't think there is a chance in the world he reads this blog. We'll have to figure out another way to take care of him...

Beth Schmid said...

Oh my gosh Ali. The things you get yourself into! I'm so glad you write this blog. It makes me laugh every time I read it. But seriously, watch out. There are creeps everywhere.

Ali said...

As I'm learning every day! Thanks, Beth!

Eat. Live. Laugh. and sometimes shop! said...

Look on the bright side: you've still got it, hot momma!

Ali said...

*shudder*

Jami said...

What?!? The mailman comes to everybody's house?!? What about the UPS guy? OR mr. FedEx?
Your blog is hysterical! You should write a book!
smiles!

Ali said...

Thanks, Jami. Who is this UPS guy? Or Mr. FedEx? Definitely just admirers of YOURS! ;)

kris said...

Snort!

Your husband is all kinds of genius. You take numbers, you don't give numbers. Silly girl.

And?

Take that Designing Women episode to heart.

Because if I walked up to my car and a man about whom I felt nervous was standing there? I would say, "Listen. I am sure you are a lovely person, but you are all up in my space. BACK UP."

Seriously.

And if that man then asked for my phone number?

I would lie. Change a few digits.

Or I would take his number, if I felt the need to be polite.

Your husband?

Is all kinds of genius.

And if you see red flags?

That means there are red flags!

Pay attention!

Ali said...

i KNOW, kris! i'm TOTALLY that person that would allow myself to be killed because i didn't want to hurt the serial killer's self-esteem!

i'm working on it. the next time i'm at the kids' school, i may just kick the first dad i see in the crotch - just for good measure. :)

Anonymous said...

You are right about this.

M--- said...

A hundred years ago, when I was still a svelte young thing, I had memorized the number to the local Planned Parenthood office and would give that number out when Creepy Von Creepster would ask for my digits. It's quite a talent to give the right "wrong" number when you've had a few.

Ali said...

that really IS a talent. but, what would be funnier: if you accidentally gave it out when you really meant to give your REAL number - like at the dr's office or school! :)

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