Old Man, Get Away

When I think about it, the story of my life is this: once upon a time a girl named Meredith was born.  It was really awesome, and she grew up a happy, loved child whom people often found to be of an ambiguous race.  For four years, including middle school, she went through the "ugly phase."  When it passed, she was intact, and went through high school.  But despite not having any abnormal growths (like a third foot) coming out of her forehead, the only males who seemed interested in her were middle-aged men and skeezy grocery store workers.

It is my great talent in life to attract middle-aged men.  Then are generally balding, usually encounter me in restaurants, and always overt in their passes.  Case in point: I innocently went to get Chinese food with my suitemate on Thursday.  We waited at the counter until our food was ready.  A balding, red haired man entered to pick up some food, probably on the way home from work.  "You've got beautiful hair," he said.  I took it as ordinary; people have a tendency to talk about my hair or touch it, asking if I'm okay with it as an afterthought.

We shoved over to give him room to order.  My suitemate went to the candy-for-a-quarter machine and bought some Runts, those little, hard fruit candies shaped like the fruit they represent.  I may be the only person on the planet who likes the banana-flavored ones, so I took them from her.  As is my fashion, I teased her for having inferior tastes in candy and declared my love for the banana candies.  The man, watching us from the other side, "Hot and with great taste? What a winning combination."

I exited the restaurant in distress.  There was the great possibility that he'd been hinting something about my love of bananas beyond the flavor.  And that was something I'd rather have not thought about.

It was certainly far from the most brazen manner in which I've been propositioned.  My favorite pick-up line of all time was when a drunk guy at a frat just pointed at his crotch and smiled.  But still, I had hoped to get dinner without being bothered.

So here's the question of the day: do I have a middle-aged man magnet hidden somewhere? Also, is there a linear relationship between hair loss and inclination to hit on teenage girls?

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