Yesterday I was walking to the grocery store when the driver of a large truck honked his horn and scared the shit out of me.
I stopped in my tracks, excited to see a car accident, when he leaned out the window and gave me a creepy grin and a thumbs up.
There was no car accident. He was honking at ME.
Me? Really? I looked down and assessed my outfit (sweat pants are all that fits me right now!) and took inventory of my face: I haven't donned makeup or done my hair in weeks. (It's scrunch season, remember?)
A few years ago, I would have smiled back and waved like a prom queen, basking in the validation of my single hotness.
Instead I stared back in gaping confusion, wondering if he was playing a mean joke on me, and thinking that I'm probably old enough to be his mother.
When did it become an oddity that people would check me out? I'm not single anymore, but I'm only 27. And that's not THAT old...is it? I guess I could stand to trade in the bermuda shorts for a cute skirt now and again, so I don't embarrass the cats when I take them to the vet.