No, Sir, I’m Not the Nanny

Not to brag or anything, but I can count the number of times I have been hit on on one hand.  For the record, the last time was courtesy of a Canadian sheep farmer . . . in Miami . . . in 2008.


Maybe it’s because I learned the “don’t talk to strangers” lesson a little too seriously in kindergarten.  Either way, I generally don’t emit a please-come-talk-to-me vibe when I’m out and about.


Or so I thought.


Yesterday, as I walked to the bank, stroller handle in one hand, cell phone in the other, a man started to talk to me.


I know we haven’t gotten far in this little anecdote, but let’s review for a moment.  I am in motion.  I am pushing a stroller—with my left hand, wedding band and engagement rings shining up and out for all the world to see.  I am actively conversing over the phone.  Plus, I’m me, and typically do not talk to strangers.


Somehow, none of this was a deterrent to the man who tried three times to strike up not only a conversation, but a date for coffee or tea (my choice).  He finally surrendered upon learning that I was married.


Once I got over the shock of the thing, the whole situation made me wonder: did he think I was a single mom?  Did he think I was the nanny?  Or did he think for some reason I really needed that cup of coffee/tea he offered?


The world will never know.


At least now I can expect another three years of silence before being hit on again.  In my life, thankfully, this happens about as often and as reliably as jury duty.



One Comment to “No, Sir, I’m Not the Nanny”

  1. That’s hilarious!

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