Like a Moth to the Flame
Is it the color of our hair?? Do we emit some kind of 'come hither all ye weird fellows' scent??
WHY is it that only weirdo guys seem to be the ones remotely interested in us? Murphy's Law? Karma? Our fashion sense or lack thereof?
No ruggedly handsome mountain men (Yum). No laid back surfer tall and tanned types. Not even any nerdy glasses artsy hipsters. Nope. Just plain old creepy wackies with strange mullet ponies and pasty half grins. With a few missing teeth.
Where: The Elevator. Our apartment. Which should equal neutral ground. A safe haven to hang our hat. A cradle.
When: Laundry Time. Was toting smelly sweaty gym clothes, sandy wet beach towels, and nanny scented t-shirts (milk sweat juice germ bacteria infected garbage truck-ish).
Who: Fran, Weird Strange Guy
WSG: "Are you American?"
F: "Uh yes....why."
WSG: "You have a European look going."
F: "Well...uh..ha..(awkward.....awkward....yep, still awkward) um, well my family is Swedish."
WSG: "Ooo. Can I call you 'Swedish Girl' then?"
F: (door opens to our floor THANK GOD) "Uh. I guess so."
But what we really wanted to say was NO CREEPER. YOU CAN'T CALL US SWEDISH GIRL OR FOREIGN GIRL OR ANYTHING TO THAT EFFECT. PLEASE GO CREEP SOMEWHERE ELSE. THIS IS OUR SAFE HAVEN. OUR CRADLE. OUR NEUTRAL GROUND. WE HANG OUR HAT HERE. But we didn't because we are a good and nice neighbor even to billy goats gruff mullety greasemonkeys.