"You're very beautiful."

Why is it that the only man to say that to my face in a voice that sounded remotely dashing it was the same freaky man who was a complete stranger and was only trying to get into my pants?

I still can't get over it. Freaky, freaky, freaky man. Urgh I feel naseous just thinking about it.

I remember reading an article written for playboys on getting women into bed, and this freaky, freaky man seemed to be trying his best to follow its advice. Fortunately, I seem to possess a working brain and so did not fall for his tricks hook, line and sinker.

Honestly, though, did he have to ruin the words "you're very beautiful" for me forever? Because from now on whenever I get a compliment or whenever I look into a mirror and see a face I don't want to stick a paper bag over, I will think of those words and then I will have to go and take several showers.

I'm slowly fixating on everything this freaky man said. I totally forgot about the compliment thing when I wrote about it on my LJ because, well, he said a lot of things and I was more completely flabbergasted by the whole stranger asking and divulging too many personal things.

Tomorrow I'm going to fixate on his shirt and how I hate men who do not (a) button up their shirts all the way, (b) fold down their collars and (c) think the crumpled shirt look is so yesterday.

If growing up means I get everything ruined for me then I want to get off this bus right this minute.

< bass | treble >

- - 2006-05-29
- - 2006-05-01
on The Ineffable - 2006-03-27
on being a matyr - 2006-03-23
- - 2006-03-17