I do enjoy an urban adventure, most days. Being a city girl born and raised, average crazy I can handle. Homeless people asking for donations? No problem. I either have it or I don’t. Traffic jams and horn blowers? I get it. You’re in a hurry. I’m not. Go around or shut the %&#$ up.
What I don’t like or even understand is cray cray crazy. I mean, look dude. If you’re staring at me like you’re Wily Coyote and I just turned into a turkey dinner, it’s not sexy. I don’t appreciate it…and you’re making me feel weird. What happened to discreet looks or even a flirtatious smile? Why stare like a lecherous hound with a slobbering problem?
A few years back I was complaining about being stared at when someone said, “One day no one will look at you and you’re gonna wish they would.” Well, I’m sure that if I ever feel old and unattractive, that type of stare will still not be appreciated.
His semi-sane, bug eyed stare did not make me feel sexy or desirable. It did not make me feel pretty. I felt like that son of a gun might try to take my cookies. His look made me immediately wish I had a weapon in case he did…and this was in a public place.
Like the city girl I am, I looked directly at him. Usually, when people see that you’ve caught them staring they’ll either look away or smile flirtatiously. No. Crazy Face just kept staring at me. I stared at him. His stare didn’t waver until I closed my laptop and began gathering my things to leave. I just didn’t feel comfortable.
Before I went inside, I kept hesitating. I deliberated about three minutes before going inside. My gut was telling me to go elsewhere but I shrugged it off as paranoia.