Do You Like Fruit?

Since we’re all talkin’ bout how fun and cool it is to be hit on by creepers, and how it’s a compliment and we ought to be grateful, honestly ladies, why can’t we just take a joke/compliment/tiniest bit of criticism? I thought I’d resurrect this actual, real, true thing that happened to me two years ago.


Just got back from two weeks on the West Coast – we began our voyage in Olympia WA and finished in Sonoma, and I will report back on the friends, food and wine (mainly wine) we enjoyed.

But first!

I am proud to say I have Resting Bitch Face. I’ve been gently bringing it along for my 50 years on this planet. Its also been a while since I got randomly hit on by strange dudes. I think you might see where this is going.

Got off the plane last night in DC, and so happy to be home after a 5 hour flight! You know what five hours on a plane does – it drains the vitality out of you along with any remaining moisture in your skin and your will to live. But what I look like is really beside the point. (I looked like myself in the post-mortem photo.) I’m in the cab line, minding my own damn business, and the guy behind me – who I have not looked at – starts talking about how it’s the weekend or something. I assumed he was on the phone because he’s only made eye contact with the back of my head.

Nope. I made the mistake of putting my sweatshirt (just part of my supah-sexxay airline ensemble) in my bag, and that’s when he did manage to make eye contact. I realized with some horror he’d been talking to my hair. (My hair has no comment.) Did I live here? Did I like it? Where was I from? Sounds harmless but I’m here to tell you it was super intense and better suited for a small room with a single swinging bulb than a cab line at midnight. I finally told him I had a long day and wasn’t up for conversation, please do forgive me. (Because it’s our job as vaginas to prevent emotional injury!)

Well he got mad. ‘I had a long day, longer than yours’, he told me, quite indignantly. And then some other stuff I blocked out because I was making mental notes for the inevitable police sketch. Then he uttered the deathless phrase each and every one of you should try and use in any potential pick up situation:

“Do you like fruit?”

I replied that I did not want any fruit. He insisted I accept his offer of peaches, which he pulled out of his bag and shoved at me. I demurred. ‘No fruit for me!’

The my cab showed up, and this is what he said to the guy who opens the door for passengers, and I quote:

“Yeah, put her in a cab! BUT YOU’LL NEVER MAKE HER HAPPY!”

(I wish I was kidding, he really said that.)

I am tempted to tell you what I look like, what I wore, how I acted. But it had nothing to do with me. I was a lone woman, and he was entitled to my attention and conversation, and when he wanted to give me fruit, I’d better take the damn fruit.

New hashtag: #AllWomenDon’tWantYourDamnFruit!

Jeez. Anyway, next post: Olympia Washington- Like Key West with more weed and fewer drag queens!


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