posted Tue, 19 Sep 2006
I need help deciding if this was a hit. Not because I’m interested – I have SH, the best boyfriend in the world! But because I am curious. SH (and others) have told me I am oblivious. I am, I suppose, because I never developed the hit-detecting skills when many girls do early on in life.
I suppose it’s for sort of the same reason I never developed any hand-eye coordination. I didn’t get glasses until I was in fifth grade but I needed them well before then. My theory is that you develop your hand-eye coordination when you are five or six. If you don’t get it by then, you’re not going to get it ever. By not having good vision then, I didn’t have the right tools to develop that coordination. Who knows? Maybe even with glasses, I might not have had any hand-eye coordination. But the lack of this skill definitely held me back in athletics later on. Along with my slowness. And clumsiness.
But I digress. I want to know if this was a hit not so I can say, “Oh look at me! Another man hit on me!” Because really, so what? It’s not like it happens that frequently. I am the girl who didn’t get asked to a single high school dance. I go years between boyfriends. So when men hit on me now, I look upon it as an anthropological curiosity. Why now? Why not in high school? Why not in college? It’s bizarre.
And, of course, I have to know if it happened at all. When it’s blatant, I know. But sometimes, I am not so sure. I don’t think this was a hit. You tell me.
So. I’m at the post office to return some books to Amazon. I can’t use the cool package machine near the mailboxes because I want the book rate, so I have to go inside and wait in line. The radio is playing loudly. I hate being forced to listen to noise in public places. At least have it on Sean Hannity! But a darn adult music station? Please. My tax dollars not at work.
Postal guy: [weighs the box] How fast do you want this to get there?
Me: I want the media rate. Those are books. That’s why I’m in here instead of using the machine where there’s none of this obnoxious music.
PG: Man, it stinks. All day with Cher and Prince. What’s relaxing about that?
Me: Do they ever play Michael Bolton or Celine Dion?
PG: Yes! What’s the deal with that?
Me: I’m sure Celine is a really nice person, but her music…
PG: I’m not sure she’s a nice person.
Me: Do they pay you extra to listen to this crap?
PG: No. Do you want insurance on that?
Me: Yeah, probably. That’s $160 of books in there.
PG: OK. Now you want good music, you need to listen to The Doors.
Me: The Doors?! They stink! I’m a Who person myself.
PG: The Who’s OK, but what’s wrong with The Doors? Jim Morrison is one of the best musicians ever.
Me: Where do I start? I hate his lyrics, I hate the melodies, I hate his voice.
PG: Sign here. He had one of the best voices in rock and roll!
Me: What’s all that about singing about walking down the hall and killing his mother? He should be resurrected so he and Eminem can hang out together.
PG: [long pause] OK. I really can’t explain that one. Probably some odd psychological thing about wanting his mother dead.
Me: Well, I hope his mother was already dead when he sang it so she never had to hear it.
PG: Yeah, we could probably spend hours talking about it. [I think that might be the hit.]
Me: [take my receipt and go] Well bye.
The end of the line
11 months ago