- You are a big healthy girl (thanks Robbie, that made me feel great at 16 years old)
- You are not fat, just womanly…….(huh?)
- You are not fat, you are cuddly….(huh?)
- You are not fat, you are voluptuous….(oh, okay, I get it now)
- I don’t like skinny women, I like them more like you….(thanks dear husband)
- You have a big cheesy smile….(errrr….okay)
- Even though you are old enough to be my mother, can I give you a hug…(an apprentice said this to me at a Christmas party one year)
Today I had another one.
Before I go into the detail, I want to clarify something. I am happy being 44. Don’t want to be any different to what I am. Just do not need anyone holding up the number 44 flash card too often.
I am in the car park of Bunnings Hardware and making my way out when a van turns near me and, as he looks a little too close for comfort, I manoeuvre my car out the way slightly. His window is open and he stops and the following conversation takes place:
“Hey love, don’t worry, I won’t hit your car, I am a nice guy”, he calls out to me from his open window which is next to my open window, only slightly higher up.
“Oh, that is okay, I was just being careful”, I politely replied with a pleasant smile.
“If I hit your car you would have to give me your phone number”, he says with a smirk. I cannot move ahead with my car as there is one in front.
“I see. That is one way to get someones phone number I suppose”, I am tempted to shut my window but that would be rude.
“So, you up for a drink then?” he asks.
“No thanks”, I start laughing with disbelief. You see, he is about 25 years old.
“Come on. Say yes”, he leans slightly out of the window.
“No, really, thanks but no thanks”, I say very nicely and start to put my car in first gear to move on. Personally I feel rather flattered. He is quite a bit younger than me. He probably thinks I am younger than I really am.
Then he says………………”Go on love, you look like you could use a Toy Boy“.
Then I drive off, kind of laughing. After a few seconds the laughter stops and I realise I am actually a bit offended.
Did he mean I looked like some old broad who needed a shag?
Or some cougar on the prowl at the Bunnings car park.
I have decided to take the “I am flattered” stance on this one. Let’s face it, the older you get, the fewer the wolf whistles. In fact, when I was young I complained to my mother about men checking me out and whistling. She said to me I should enjoy it because one day it will stop.