***Extra Disclaimer*** This post has been sitting in the draft section of my blog for over a year. I decided that since I was already humiliating myself on Grass Stains, I should go ahead and humiliate myself here too.
I'm not the kind of woman who gets a man's attention. Construction workers do not whistle at me. I have never been seated at a bar and received a drink from a dashing man in a pinstripe suit. The last time a man asked for my phone number was circa 1995. Wait, he didn't even ask for it; he stole it from my Barnes and Noble order form. Duh, that's how I obtained books that were not in stock before I figured out the whole Internet thing. I'm more of a Plain Jane type. There is nothing fancy about the way I dress. I have no clue how to accessorize. My clothes are full coverage year round because I am more sturdy than sexy. My hair is a mess, and I'm about as talented with a makeup brush as I am with a hairbrush. In another 10 years, I will be a makeup-less, stringy-haired, elastic waistband wearing, overweight, menopausal nightmare. Internet, sometimes you just have to admit the truth and be okay with it.
When one of my girlfriends told a crazy story about getting hit on at Village Pizza, I told her my story of the guy hanging out at the Texaco who only had one tooth and offered to pump my gas. I suppose it is possible that he was hoping I would pay him to pump gas for me. He was hanging out at a gas station without a vehicle of his own. Hmmm, and here I was thinking that I had been hit on! I seem to only be attractive to a certain caliber of men. The homeless, toothless, drunk, at a gas station for fun caliber. I am simply not the kind of woman who gets a man's attention. All of the gals on the porch at the time all of this story telling occurred tried to convince me that I am being hit on all the time...and that I am just oblivious to it.
I mulled it over. Is it possible that my friends are right? I actually do attract more than skeezy, meth addicts? And so, I told J I was going to run a completely inappropriate experiment. It would take weeks. So began "The Sexperiment."
The goal is simple. Determine if people are attempting to seduce me. The rules. Coworkers are exempt. Relatives are not to be believed when they call me attractive because they have eaten my sauteed mushrooms and realized why J married me. (Seriously, he was torn between me and a really hot chick, but then he sampled my steak topping mushrooms. It's the only weapon in my arsenal.) Notice I used the word people? That's because I am not exempting other women. Maybe there are women who want to get busy with me. I said maybe. I will catalog my interactions with other people and attempt to rationally determine my sex factor. See what I did there? Sex Factor should totally be Simon Cowell's next show.
I stopped at a gas station to buy a little something to wet my whistle. The clerk pointed to an older gent leaving the store and said, "He looked at you. More than once."
Scary looking man at Publix made eye contact with me. I cannot be certain he was checking me out. He might have been staring at the dental floss I forgot I had hanging out of my teeth.
::So far, I have not had verbiage with any men other than my husband, relatives, and coworkers. This will be harder to chart than I originally thought. ::
Received a completely inappropriate compliment regarding my ability to contort my body in an effort to get a photograph of a golf ball. It was the highlight of my week.
A male friend invited me to a campout. I think this was actually fueled by bourbon and boredom and is probably irrelevant to the Sexperiment because he also invited Scooby Doo. Does this make me equally as sexy as Scooby Doo?
A slightly retarded man asked me to marry him. For future reference, this was not my first proposal from a challenged fellow. This was not meant to be rude or condescending. I'm just stating the fact that this individual is actually mentally retarded and finds me worthy of marriage.
A client asked if I was married. This guy is a relatively new client, and he honestly didn't know my status. We're not facebook friends, and because I don't often wear my wedding ring, he would have no reason to know. He was just curious. Nothing more.
The owner of a gas station down the street from my house told me that he loved me. I think he was drunk. That one cherry Coke I was purchasing definitely didn't have any kind of magic potion or anything on it that would have caused him to fall in love with me instantaneously.
::This was a boring week.::
I wore my wedding ring and engagement ring. No one noticed. Not even J. Is it possible that I am invisible?
Did my friend just try to cop a feel? No, he was actually falling down drunk and used me as a stopper. The boobage on the play was unintentional. That's right. If you need someone to drive you home from a bar/restaurant because you drank way to much, I'm your girl.
::That's right. My only interaction with someone outside of work and family this week was a friend who needed a ride home and knew that I would do it.::
Christmas parties. Fun. I think the hubs works with a man who found me attractive. Or, I had salad between my teeth. Either way, he seemed to actually like me. True, he is probably 30 years older than I and works in a lab in a basement and probably hasn't ever had a girlfriend.....Do I even count this one?
How many enablers does it take to get a strong man to help unload the groceries? None - Even when the enabler puts on her most fabulous red lipstick and black wedge heels. The adorable kids at Publix do that for everyone.
I was in a gas station purchasing a Diet Mountain Dew. The man in front of me was definitely interested. He kept turning around to look at me. He even said, "you are a very lovely woman" while we were in line. This would definitely be an instance that could impact the results of the sexperiment. Except for one thing. As he paid for his cigarettes and beer, the clerk asked him how long he had been out. That's right. Dude was fresh out of prison. I guess it had been a while since he had seen a woman. I also think he probably shouldn't have been buying beer. BUT. He was clearly interested.
After my encounter with a fresh from prison man, I decided to call this week a wash. I don't think my ego can take anything else.
I had too much to drink. It was an accident. Or, it was me attempting to force myself to flirt. Trust me. It takes a serious quantity of hooch for me to be anything that remotely resembles flirty. Whether you believe it or not, I am a serious introvert and extremely nervous around groups of people. For about 15 seconds I thought I was going to get hit on. Then, I closed one eye and saw clearly that dude was interested in my friend standing beside me and not me. I was this close to being hit on by a man with more than one tooth. No, not really, (it was just double vision) but let me think it anyway.
So, I ask J. What's the deal? Why is it that everyone I know is constantly getting hit on by men everywhere they go, and I only get the attention of ex-cons and men twice my age? Even though I know he was joking; J's response was perfect. "It's because you love me, and everyone can see it. You're unattainable." He's right. I'm not the slinky, beautiful type of woman who gets free drinks and unlimited, charming glances. I am the type of woman who finds the one charming glance she will ever need and holds onto him forever. It shows on my face.
Months after my sexperiment ended a rather arrogant ladies man told J that he was going to have "your wife in six months." I stood there with my eyes the size of dinner plates. J calmly looked over at him and said, "good luck." I couldn't resist it. I licked J's face right there in downtown Athens.