It's been a while since I had to pull out my old college days constantly-offended feminism, and yesterday when I went reaching for it, it was barely there. I was, and remain, completely horrified at myself.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
So this delivery guy walks in and, in work-mode, I look up with that automatic tip-me-if-I-have-to-use-the-steamer smile. He says, "Hey, Beautiful."
Revulsion. (And here's where I admit that if he looked even remotely like Jake Gyllenhaal* I would have gotten all giggly and done the lip-bite-chin-tuck thing. I'm shallow.)
I made a face that I thought conveyed "Ew. Gross. Quit it. Now." But instead, he says, "What? You don't think that you're beautiful?"
Good God, there are so many things that I should have said. Wish I had said! Needed to have said! That's the end of the story. It doesn't get better. He hung around creepily while waiting for a signature. I busied myself making lemonade. The end.
*Oh my god, I'm so good at spelling I totally got it right on the first try.