So there’s this guy that I…

Let’s just say that I’m not a fan.  He flirts with me in front of his wife.  He’s not as charming as he thinks he is; in point of fact, he’s creepy.   There’s the witty and slightly flirty but funny guy who makes jokes at a cocktail party and makes all the girls say “Oh YOU” and then there’s icky and reaching above your genus guy who makes you want to wipe your palm on your pants because he’s held your hand in his sweaty mitt a bit too long during a handshake.

He asked where I went on my honeymoon, which was the fourth question asked in an attempt to keep me cornered in a tiny kitchen. When I replied that we went to Ireland and Scotland, I was thoroughly lectured on my poor choices and the joys of…cruising.  Please allow me to say this, I do not begrudge anyone if they love something, but the notion of being on a cruise is just not my thing.  It doesn’t ring my bell.  It doesn’t make me swoon.  It doesn’t appeal to me in any fashion.  Unless it’s a river cruise in Europe and the reality is, after reading The Woman in Cabin 10, I’m sure that desire is dead now too.

Every year I see this dude and every year he attempts to convert me to the attend mass at Our Lady of Carnival Cruises Sans Legionnaire Disease, while sidling ever closer to me with each fervent appeal.  Apparently I didn’t read the fine print on my perfume called PANT AT ME which unfortunately I was wearing along with a body lotion called WELCOMES UNINVITED ADVANCES and my lip balm called THE WEDDING RING CLEARLY MEANS NOTHING GO BABY GO COME AT ME BRO made me irresistible and luscious.   Now that I know, I just won’t shower anymore when said person is around or if I have showered I may roll in dog poo just to be able to safely assume avoidance.  Hopefully that will drown out the scent of my deodorant called FORGET WHAT I SAID ABOUT LOVING MY MOUNTAIN SIZED HUSBAND!  I DIDN’T MEAN A WORD OF IT PUNY MAN! YOU’RE THE ONE FOR ME.

I deflected all of his advances while trying to demur politely; stating quietly that I prefer terra firma rather than a floating city.  He pushed further stating how I could do a small cruise and build my way up.  This somehow sounds like the even seedier version of “we’ll stop if it hurts” lie that boys try in high school.  After going back and forth for about forty minutes I finally sipped my tea called PLEASE STARE AT MY BOOBS which clearly was wafting it’s aroma of INVITATION FOR YOU NO MATTER HOW MUCH MY NOSE WRINKLES WHEN YOU’RE AROUND and stated, “I would rather be floating on a door in the North Atlantic.”


That night our family was watching Hook.  Great movie and the very tonic (after scrubbing with a wire brush obviously) that one who has been visually undressed and groped needs.  Fluff, funny funny fluff.  I commented on my admirer and God bless Magilla, he just rolled his eyes.  “His wife was right there?”, he asked.  Nod, smirk, wink, slight mouth vomit.  “What’s his problem?”, Magilla griped.  I had to state the obvious…that I’m a total hottie and amazing and have a great laugh and an even better rac….never mind.

I quipped that if we had more romance in our life I wouldn’t be so rusty on flirting. He rolled his eyes again and tallied off the list of crap we dealt with that week.

The next day it poured.  I think an ark and a dude with a white beard floated past or maybe it was a demented cruise line selling vacation packages door to door.  I texted Magilla from my office lamenting that I had forgotten my boots at home and would he kindly come over and carry me to my truck. The text I received back simply stated “Haha”.

I fired back with…

If I were him, getting that from me, I would not have been so sweet as to offer an A-OK sign in response.  It would have probably involved another finger.  This, once again, is the glaring difference between a really nice person and the complete lunatic he married.


I write about life as I know it.

One Comment on “Aruba, Jamaica….

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