After years of waiting and wondering, it's finally happened. I've been hit on by an old man. In the interest of political correctness, I've earnestly campaigned to diversify my fan club for quite some time to include people of all races, ideologies, nerd level, and watermelon seed spitting abilities. Alas, the interest of a white man from the baby boomer generation eluded me.........until now.
Frequent Kroger shoppers that we are, the employees mostly know me and my Infidel spawn by name. My newest admirer works the graveyard shift because he's a teacher by day. Due to my glamorous occupation as a newspaper slinging "Lady Of The Night", I visit him frequently in the quiet pre-dawn hours. We've all come to know him as "Matzo Man". Whenever I park next to his car, it's usually filled with cases of matzo crackers, so I assumed that he must be Jewish. That is, until I noticed the huge Bible in the back window with the giant cross on the front. Turns out, he's on a low sodium diet and he picked up the unsold matzos at the end of Passover for a bargain basement price.
I've known him for years. He has a daughter older than me. I've met his wife. He knows my Papi and kids too. Okay, so it started with him sneaking up behind me in the store two weeks ago and he started rubbing my shoulders. I nearly pulled an Angela Merkel Chancellor defensive death move on him. Then, early Saturday morning, he strategically cornered me into a vulnerable position along the desolate Goldfish aisle and impishly said, "Hey, do you want my buns"? Ummm, what? Matzo Man repeated his line and then brought forth a plastic bag containing two sandwich buns left over from a package of 8. I rejected his buns because they looked pasty white and seedy. My Papi understands and appreciates the fact that I don't care for white buns! Then he proceeded to follow me through the store and placed his hand over mine while I pushed the shopping cart. Personal space intruder alert, personal space intruder alert!
What in the World has possessed my Matzo Man? Could it be the seductive way I sashay through the clearance section in my dollar store flip flops picking up dented boxes of Pop Tarts and nearly expired pickles? Is it the concentrated discernment I use to pick out only the fluffiest brands of toilet paper? Is it the allure of the ultra sexy polo shirts and khaki shorts that I always wear? Could I have unwittingly enticed him by my clandestine wedgie pulls that I thought nobody else could see? Perhaps, it's the way I shamelessly croon off key to the delights of Kroger Radio? Especially when they're playing "Everything I Own", by Bread, and "The Pina Colada Song". Maybe the mesmerizing jiggle of my enormous azz is the culprit? Could he have mistook my heavy breathing from loading newspapers as a veiled ploy? Could it be that he just likes fat, filthy, sweaty women covered in newspaper ink?
Why, oh why, have I been cursed with such irresistibly vixenish ways?