Pervy Old Guys: the next installment.

A common vein that seems to run though way too many of my blog entries, is the topic of Pervy Old Guys. As if they are not already abundant enough in real life, for reasons that are undecipherable even to myself, I insist on immortalising them through writing. What better way to combat this tendency, then to write about them yet again.

My first encounter with a Pervy Old Guy today occured not ten minutes after I had deigned to leave the house. On my way to the Barbie exhibition, I dressed in what most would describe as too much pink- head-to-toe, topped off with a pink umbrella as it was raining, much to the detriment of my hair. So it follows that I looked like a complete idiot as I stood at the bus stop trying to prevent my umbrella from inverting, a bad habit that it seems to adopt at only the most inconvenient of times. The bus was, as usual, ten minutes late- this is such a common occurence that it would be worrying if it ever turned up on schedule. Still, crippled with the fear that it might be punctual and i would be forced to wait for the next bus for the better part of an hour, I arrived at the bus stop several minutes before it was meant to arrive. The result of this was that I was standing at a bus stop in the rain, completely in pink, for almost fifteen minutes. In this time, I got a number of strange looks from people in cars, however most of them slowed down to look at me like they would a traffic accident, then sped off.

A certain Pervy Old Guy, however, did not. He did the usual slowing down, and even opened his window. He then proceeded to ask me with a creepy smile, "Do you want a lift?", patting the empty passenger seat next to him. I politely declined his alluring offer, remembering what had been reiterated countless times to every child: don't accept lifts with strangers! Pervy Old Guys included. The thought of what would have happened if I actually was as stupid as I looked, does not bear thinking about.

However my encounters with Pervy Old Guys today, didn't stop there. Actually that kind of was my last encounter with a Pervy Old Guy, the next story which I will go into features a Weird Moderately-Aged Guy. Carmella, who I went with to the Barbie exhibition, and I were happily sitting in a populous shopping centre looking doubly stupid as we were both sporting an excess of pink attire. Much to my confusion, a man who appeared to be not too old but certainly older than me, caught my eye and said "Hey, girl, can you answer a question?"
Unsure whether or not he was addressing me, I looked at him, bewildered. "Hey, girl, Hey, girl" he repeated, then looked at Carmella as I was still wide-eyed and speechless. "Hey girl, can you answer a question for me?"
"Uh... okay," she replied tentatively, as I slid my Barbie bag closer to my body and further away from the Weird Moderately-Aged Guy.
He then proceeded to ask, through his accent, whether or not we could tell if people like each other from looking at a photograph. He believed that one can, whereas Carmella riposted that no, you can't, not just from a photograph. Whilst he began saying something which I could not understand due to his accent, I interjected that indeed you cannot tell from a photograph as they are usually posed. He said something about facial expressions- I kind of agreed with him, particularly in the case of candid shots, but didn't fancy mentioning it.

Following such a strange question, which he kept pressing however continually changed the exact wording resulting in the meaning becoming mutated; Carmella questioned him as to way he wanted to know. He wouldn't answer! She repeated her query but he outright refused to address it, instead repeating his original question again. We hastily made our excuses and left- while we were not in immediate danger of any kind, it was really strange!

Hopefully that will be the last Pervy Old Guy/ Weird Moderately-Aged Guy story for a long time.