The Hands

"A sense of humor is a major defense against minor troubles. " -- Mignon McLaughlin

I am very bad with guys. Part of this is because of a basic disbelief in their sincerity. That's a long story that I won't go into here, but it's true. Additionally, I don't know how to flirt. Somehow, that part of southern girl upbringing missed me. I don't know how to handle it when a guy shows interest in me. I was always the least interesting of my friendship group. Guys always went for my friends, and I was always the tall, quiet one in the background. I've been lucky to have some really tremendous guy friends, but my romantic batting average is pitiful.

After an odd, but trauma-free day of school, I was looking forward to seeing my friends in our biweekly dinner club. We were going to my favorite Mexican restaurant and I always feel better when I know a cheese-laden plate is going to be laid before me at some point in the evening. Nothing is as nice as cheese. :)

Anyway, there is a guy at my favorite restaurant who always flirts with me. I don't know what to think about that. I get so embarrassed that I think I'm going to burst into flame. He's actually told me on more than one occasion how much he likes tall, pretty girls. (I suppose that's me...) He's asked at least two of my guyfriends I've been in the restaurant with if I'm their wife/girlfriend, etc., etc.

The thing is, he's not bad looking. I don't get the "RUN!! BASTARD ALERT!!" vibe off him. I just can't believe that his complements are personal toward me. I wonder how many other girls he says stuff like that to daily, and I flash back to the jerk from grad school who loved all women and told them so. If I thought his complements were related to some aspect of me other than the fact that have anatomical aspects opposite to his own, then I might feel differently about the guy.

Tonight, he came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders while he asked my cousin "who the pretty lady was." I, like most other modern American women, have a thing about that. I couldn't believe it! He just walked up and put his hands on me without permission. As I once told the guy from grad school, unless you'd like to lose those hands, don't put them on me without me saying it's okay.

I did the Southern Lady thing and just waited until he took his hands away. He wasn't trying to cop a feel. It was just strange. I don't know what to think about it. I don't know why I didn't break him into a half dozen small writhing pieces. I responded in the only way that seemed appropriate: I threw back my head and I laughed.