2001-07-05 :: 10:01 a.m.

I'm on the subway platform, not-caffeinated, and waiting.

Some paunchy guy comes up and mentions noticing my tattoo and starts trying to chat me up by way of "I have one too," etcetera etcetera.

I'm not known for my great social skills at 8:45 am, and I'm definitely not prone to honing them for some stranger, either. So I was annoyed. I made polite small talk about my new tattoo, and then adjusted my headphones, hoping he'd move it along.


Hands me his card, "Call me, tattoo girl."

And I blurted out the first thing that came to me: "I'm married." I flashed him the ring My Boy bought me right before his show last week.

The guy got all flustered and apologized and I heard his equally paunchy buddy say, "You gotta check for the ring first, man."

Ba ha ha ha ha ha!

What gets me is that I showed absolutely no interest whatsoever, I didn't even look him in the eye when he talked to me, and yet he somehow thought he had a green light.


I've got more pressing matters to attend to. Like, getting the cash together to leave Stoosh in a kennel at the end of the month, when My Boy and I go to Florida.



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