I’m not being vain. It’s true. I have no idea what I’ve done to cause such a hormonal sensation, but over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been propositioned by nearly everyone I’ve run into. Unlike my crotchety, sinister mother-in-law, I haven’t had a tit job. I haven’t lost any more weight. I am not wearing a lot of makeup.
The guy who set off this bizarre domino effect was a lonely soul in an otherwise 100% gay bar on Fire Island. He insisted on making me origami flowers, ducks, and other love tokens while moping about his ex-wife and insisting that I was looking particularly attractive that night, sloppy pony-tail, sans make-up and all. I figured this was a fluke. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve managed to attract the one straight man in a completely gay joint.*
But now it’s getting out of control. Nary a day goes by without a male person a) asking me out directly (i.e. the guy on my walking trail who actually glanced down at my wedding rings before posing said query or the old man at the grocery store who just asked me what I liked to do for fun) or b) asking suggestive questions that I can tell if, answered correctly, would lead to a direct request for hook-up (i.e. the football player at Wake who idly questioned if my personal “black man window” was now “closed” since I was married) or c) having the overall satisfaction of my marital state picked apart and analyzed, usually by someone completely unequipped and unrequested to do so (i.e. a young man I tutor bluntly asking, “Are you married?” and when I answered affirmativley, again bluntly asking, “Happily?”).
It was flattering for about a second, at first. But the thing is, I really AM happily married. Sort of ridiculously so. Friends make fun of me. Unless it’s a playful consideration of getting with a movie star (or similar), I rarely mention a man besides my husband. Ergo, I think I give off a “taken” vibe. Which, as we all know, is the surest aphrodisiasic for any man. It’s making me a little crazy, though. I have started scanning the horizon of all my outings with suspicion, immediately looking aloof and unapproachable if an even halfway possible hookup attempt looks likely. Which, I’m starting to realize, only makes things worse: Aloof = Man I Want To Hit That in boy language, apparently.
What I’m really hacked off about, though, is this: Where the fuck were all these men when I WAS, in point of fact, young, footloose and fancy free?! I guess they were all busy hitting on aging happily married teachers.
* The first time this happened was during Pride Weekend festivities in NY. My brother and a random homosexual had to verbally manhandle him a little. He eventually retreated in shame after numerous attempts to hump my leg.