Donde pongo el ojo pongo la bala.
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Who needs to get pretty for men? a.k.a. Wow, women are forward.

I spent the entire day running errands in 90ºF. As one would imagine, by the time I got to my last stop, the grocery store, I was red-faced, my ponytail was coming loose, I was all sweaty, and my tongue was wagging. To give you a complete picture, I was wearing no makeup, George’s oversized Zero G polo shirt, pijama jeans (haters gonna hate, but they’re ridiculously comfortable), and Crocs. In my defense, they’re ballerina Crocs, so they look like shoes.

So I’m cruising the produce section, a vision in sweat stains, singing to the grocery store 90s pop, and I bump grocery carts with a peppy girl about my age, singing to the music, too. We laugh, do the “you first no you first” thing, and that’s that. Except that’s not that. I keep seeing her pop up next to me everywhere in the store. I start wondering if I’m just paranoid and having persecution delirium, when I feel a hand on my arm.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to weird you out, you just look so full of life that it caught my attention.”

What. Do you. Reply. To that?

“Um… thanks!”

She proceeds to ask me a couple questions about items in my cart (?!) and comments on how healthy I eat from what she can see (?!) and asks if I’m a good cook (?!).

“I don’t know. My husband seems to think so!”

She cocks her head to the side, half smiles, and says, “Lucky man. You know… you really should wear a ring. Have a nice day!” And then she walks off.

I just stood there trying to process what had just happened and trying to not to start laughing. Biggest WTF moment of the year so far.

You heard ‘er, George. Go buy me something sparkly!