There was this post kind of writing itself in my head while I woke up today. Let's see if I can remember it. It might not quite have the same style to it, since last time I thought this post up I was clutching my stomach in pain. Maybe a punch to the guts will help here. I'll try that if the post starts to suck. Honest.
Well, I realised that what with all the excitement of not posting I completely failed to tell you all about the creepy guy who offered to stalk me at the petrol station the other day. No, really. He was very nice about it. And really quite scary. I don't think he was all there. This guy leaned ofer the back of Bruce's ute while I filled up the tank. Conversation goes as follows:
Creepy Guy: Why is your hair all wet?
Ange: Um, from my shower.
Creepy Guy: Oh. Can I follow you home?
Creepy Guy: But your hair looks really good wet. I really want to follow you home.
*Ange fills up tank as far as it will go, thinking "I can drive all day if I have to!"*
Greepy Guy: So what's your name?
Ange: That's irrelevant.
Creepy Guy: Can I have your phone number?
Creepy Guy: I still want to follow you home.
*Ange wanders off to pay for petrol, not even thinking anything useful ie telling the staff at the petrol station what was going on. Ange comes out to see Creepy Guy waiting in his car near the exit. Ready to follow as promised. Ange does the worlds quickest three point turn and bolts out the other exit and tears off into town panicking about being followed*
I still can't believe I didn't think to a) tell anyone at the petrol station b) tell the police or c) threaten to go to the police so he would go away. I just panicked. I'm so glad my response was so cunning. Panic. Tell someone who is half asleep. Get killed.
Yeah, good one.
And on that note. Am I alone in having the crazies chat to me? I always seem to have random people telling me about weird stuff at bus stops. There can be several people there, but the crazy person will always pick me to talk to. Why? Do I look like I care? I don't mean to.
I had a guy at pub talking to me a few days ago. He kept asking me if my book was good. I would have thought that if someone says their book *is* good and then goes back to reading it that maybe they'd prefer to read their book instead of talking to strange men.
Maybe I need a t-shirt that says "I am nasty, honest!" or "No, I DON'T want to talk to you!" or maybe a simple tattoo on my forehead like "Bites" or "Grr!". Bah. It wouldn't work. I'm doomed to a life of crazies.
Wow. Post is all finished and I didn't have to punch myself. Awesome.
Posted at 8:35 AM #
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