He eyed me at the newsstand of Barnes & Noble this afternoon. I noticed him, of course, but thought nothing of it. Well, not until he came up and started making conversation.
"Hello," he said. "So, are you a psychologist?"
I was reading a copy of Psychology Today, so I can't fault him on using that as a kind of pick-up line. Still, I knew better than to entertain any ideas of romance on his behalf.
"No, not a shrink," I said. "Just a little messed up in the head."
"Aren't we all?"
"I think so."
"Are you here with anyone?"
"No," I said. "Just got off work."
"Really? There's a cafe nearby -- better than the Starbucks they serve here."
"I'm seeing someone," I said. "And she's cranky if I'm not home by seven."
His face twisted into a grimace. "Sorry to hear that."
"No problem, mate. Have a good one."
The moral of this story? I find it highly amusing that as a former escort, I get hit on by men -- even if it's an innocent case like this. I wasn't fearful at all, at least not of him. IF anything, I was fearful for him. Because if Simone saw him lurking near her "territory"...
Well, let's just say the whip isn't just for me.