I have just exited the bike shop and is busy strapping down my stuff for the ride home when a stranger walks up to me and compliments me on my bike. Well, I did buy this bike just yesterday, and as such it still has that new-bike shininess to it; a compliment is understandable. The man goes on to commend me on using a helmet, because us young people really should wear helmets. Well, yes, I do appreciate my head, so of course I’m using a helmet. The stranger isn’t quite done yet, and compliments me on the “dragon” on my Coyote shirt. Can I be bothered to correct a random stranger in the street on such a detail? Nah, not really.
We are now past the friendly comment from a stranger stage. He keeps talking. I take a better look at him, and he’s quite a character. His wild hair and navel-length beard is mostly white, his clothes are the kind of mish-mash you get from shopping in thrift stores, and he carries an old camera with a very, very long lens. I smell a rat. His talk about bike helmets for boobs — while he’s giving my boobs frequent looks — is not helping. I know I’m heavily equipped in the chest department, but if you want to look, be straight-forward or be subtle. This half-way thing is kind of creepy.
He compliments me on how fit I look and how I’m obviously staying healthy, and now this rat begins to stink. Really, buddy? Even dressing well doesn’t hide the fact that my fat rolls are stacked. I am getting a decent amount of muscle under that fat, but it’s nowhere near showing yet.
He keeps talking. About how much he loves dragons, and how he’s been working on this art project for over ten years now. He hasn’t told anyone about the details, not even his ex-girlfriend, because she only wanted to gossip about it. I know where this is going even before the words “back to nature” and “naked girls” leave his mouth.
Fine. This guy has already held me up for over five minutes, I can spare a few more for the entertainment value. I know I don’t look quite my age, and this guy has apparently pegged me as even younger than most people place me, because he keeps throwing the cheap compliments at me interspersed with “natural”, “back to basics”, and other assorted buzzwords. He’s taken pictures of all kinds of girls with all kinds of bodies, even 80-year old girls! Always girls, never women. He tries to ask about where I live. I tell him the general area, but don’t let him press me on details. I’m glad my sunglasses hide how fake my smile is.
It takes him another five minutes to get to the point. He wants to take my picture as I’m cycling naked down this very street, dragons painted all over my body! He spots my dragon tattoo, and nearly fondles my arm while going on about this is exactly what he had in mind, I should have dragons just like this painted all over me for his picture!
I ponder telling him where he can shove his 300mm lens, but I have a long and hilly way home, and I’ll need my energy for that. I get on my bike and push off before he can attempt to hold me back.
So how was your day?