A few days ago I was walking out of a book store and saw I was being approached by three teenage skater boys — or should I say “bois”? Or “boyz”? I’m too old to know.
I think it was sort of accidental on their part. They happened to be sauntering in a beeline on the sidewalk I was on. But they seemed to decide within nanoseconds to approach me and make it a bizarre evening for me.
One of them looked right at me and said, “Hey, what’s up? Wanna make out?”
WHAT? None of these kids were even as tall as me. They had zits and trendy clothes and school backpacks. I’m pretty sure they were about 14, about half my age. Super-theoretically, I could have a child their age. What were they thinking?
I didn’t say anything. I might have said something like, “Sure, wanna make out with my kids too?” but I usually try not to give catcallers any attention (not that I come across them too often!). I’m pretty sure my face contorted into a “Get the hell away from me, you’re crazy” message instead.
Somehow, my face contortion must have made me look really hot, because another of the kids grabbed my arm and said, “Hey baby, can I get a kiss?”
I jerked my arm away and heard myself saying, “You should not be touching strangers!”
They started to run away, and were laughing, which I can sort of understand because I knew my retort was straight up lame. I must have sounded like a librarian or Dana Carvey’s Church Lady.
I stood at my car trying to think of a snappy way to redeem myself. I almost shouted, “I have a communicable disease!” but stopped myself since I couldn’t think of an actual disease to gross them out with.