A quick glance at the calendar will tell you a few things:

• Photos of your oddly-shaped, painted tootsies in exotic locals is coming to a close (proving there is a God)
• There’s absolutely no relief from all things pumpkin spice in sight
• You’re only a few days from Muzak versions of some earworm Christmas song stalking you every place you go
• And if you’re a Texan, you’re keenly aware that some jackalope saw a shadow, probably wasn’t his, and that means 51 more weeks of Summer
• … oh yeah, and it’s the time of year that I tug on your heartstrings to get you to donate to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

Y’know what, I’m not going to do that (yet). We’ve got four more weeks until the walk, and I have plenty of time to bide. Instead, I’ll tell ya a little story – something unrelated to the fundraiser. Then, in the comments, I’ll share the fundraising link(s). How does that sound?

I’m cracking my knuckles. Let’s do this.

A Story from the Vaults (or Last October)

I’m not a pretty thing. I don’t care what you, my family, friends or even counselor say. I’m just not. I mean, I don’t make grownups cry (although, there has been the occasional hyper-critical small child or two in my past), but no one is beating down my door. Double-takes are reserved for those moments when I do something unintentionally embarrassing like say walking around at Barton Springs Pool with my top down (that happened – I was mortified). Wolf whistles are reserved for my hot slinky friends. Basically, if we were living in a rom com, I’d be the plucky best friend – the non-threatening wing girl while you get the guy. You get this idea.

The bonus is it gives me a lot of room to just be me in all my nerdy little me glory.

So, one weekend last October I was out there running errands me-ing things up in my me way, and popped into a store. A sweet-looking kid, we’re talking maybe 20, with a Barry White baritone voice offered to assist. I may have done my own double-take when he spoke. Normally, I’m more a “Leave me alone – I’m on a solo mission” gal, but he seemed truly eager to help. We chatted as we wound our way through the aisles, and he stopped, thought a moment, and said (in that unexpected rich, deep voice), “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to help you because I think you’re absolutely gorgeous.” My immediate thoughts, “The kid is a plant. I’m being Punk’d, there are hidden cameras everywhere, he’s high, and there may be some head trauma there, bless him.” I thanked him for being kind, and we located the item. As I walked away he paused again and said, “I wish I were older so I could ask you out.” Wow. I honestly didn’t know what to say, so I told him he was very sweet and that it was obvious his mother had raised a very nice young man (something every young man wants to hear), then I bee-lined it (fled) to the cashier with a small goodbye wave to him (and those hidden cameras) as I went.

The very next day I’m at our local grocery store perusing the Q-tip selection (aural health is important) and it’s way too early in the morning. A stocker in his late 20’s/early 30’s with neck tats, the kind of ink that makes you pause and wonder if you’d call that a ‘neck sleeve’ or would it be as simple as a ‘turtle neck’ because it’s before 7AM, you’re caffeine deprived and you’re quietly debating what reality means. He started chatting me up. I smiled, because I couldn’t make out his words and wanted to be polite. Then he clearly said, “Mama Bear, how long have you been married?”

Mama bear??? Really? Mama bear??

I thought about my response. I mean technically I didn’t get a divorce? so… yes? I responded with, “About 22 years.” (Hey, I’m not telling some rando with neck tattoos I’m alone when I have to walk back to my car in the dark before 7AM.) He smiled, said more mumbly word things, and then headed to another aisle. So I went back to me-ing, be-bopping through the store, and throwing things in my basket. About 5 minutes later, he comes jogging up next to me, “Hey, Mama Bear! Do you have friends?” Uhhh… what kind of sad, friendless person does he think I am? Do I look like someone who doesn’t have friends? What does that even look like? I hesitated and offered, “Yeah… I have friends.” He smiled, “Well, I’d like to be your friend. Would you like my number?” I exploded with laughter. It may have actually been a snort-laugh, because he caught me so off guard and because sir… c’mon now. When I settled back down, I responded, “No, but thank you for that!” “OK, Mama Bear!”

For weeks after, every time I’d show up at the store, he’d wave from down an aisle. Another failed attempt to Punk me. I’m onto you people!

Unfortunately, I don’t have a neat little bow with which to wrap up this story. It was just a oddly flattering weekend where I was killing it, and it hasn’t happened since. I guess it was my 15 minutes of “game”.

So, there you go, I told you a lil’ story.

Now if you’d would be so kind, please consider making a donation to The Jay Walkers on behalf of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and the upcoming walk. Help us get to $9,880!