Today I had the urge to buy an air pressure gauge. My tires have sounded kind of squeaky lately, and after researching how to use one on YouTube, I decided it was time to buy one.
I took a run to the neighborhood Wally World, and headed to the automotive department. There I saw the gauges hanging from hooks way over my head. I was able to swat one down, but the one I wanted to compare it to, eluded me.
And then there he was. A nice man helping me out. He was around my age, full head of silvery hair, built on the stocky (ok, really stocky) side, nicely dressed, neat and clean, all of his teeth, no MAGA hat, and no wedding ring. Just my type.
So, I compared the two gauges. When I turned to rehang the one I didn't want, Mr. Nice Guy was still there. He was chucking a little and said he waited because I might need help again. I smiled and as I thanked him, I gently touched his arm. He did not recoil, in fact he smiled even bigger. I took off.
It wasn't until I was driving home that I realized he had been flirting with me.
Now a normal person would have known what to do. A normal person might have said something like, Do you always come here to rescue short women in distress? or Now, let's hope I know how to use this thing or Do you hire out? I have a lightbulb at home I'm too short to change or even, and maybe most importantly I'll bet your wife really appreciates your help around the house. But no, I just turned and ran.
And that is why I will probably forever remain single. If there really is a man out there for me, he's going to have to hit me on the head with a club and drag me off into the sunset by my hair.
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