I had the delightful occasion to have dinner with some dear friends over the weekend. We’ll call them Stacy and Wilson. (If you’ve been reading along, you know the pseudonym game.) Joining the revelry were Stacy’s uncle David, his partner Manuel and Manuel’s brother Paco, who were visiting from Mexico.
The tequila and scotch flowed in excess. Stacy doesn’t speak Spanish. Wilson and David do. I have enough high school recall to make conversation with varying degrees of success (and riotous failure). Manuel speaks passable English that ironically improved the more he drank. Paco’s English was rudimentary at best, limited to a few words and phrases. Oye vay, the hilarity!
Despite a language barrier, ridiculous mix-n-match sentences of English and Española, we had a fantastic time punctuated with oodles of laughter.
However. I’m blonde and wilt-in-the-sun fair. Apparently Paco found that non-Mexican novelty extraordinarily appealing. He was into me. And when I say “into me” I mean it was like fending off an over-excited, poorly trained, highly enthusiastic puppy. You know, the kind that wants your undivided attention, jumping up and constantly trying to lick your face. Yes. Exactly like that.
While it was certainly flattering, it was more than a bit much. Here’s the thing – it’s extremely attractive for a confident man to make his interest unequivocally clear. Confidence is sexy. So is blatant interest. It’s something else completely to be fawned over by a hand-sy man you don’t know and can barely communicate with. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a man fall all over me like that before. As I said, flattering, but a wee bit creepy.
When he inquired what I was doing then next day, I told him I was otherwise occupied. I spent the day running, washing my hair, watching a movie, making pickles. Very important stuff.
And scrubbing his cologne off, which I could still smell on me the next day. Public service announcement, gentlemen. If I can smell your scent on me the next day, you’re wearing too much.
Sometimes this single thing is exhausting.
And for the record, the Blue-Eyed Irish Boy thinks it’s hilarious. No help there, the jerk. LOL