This morning, on the way out of my early morning workout in Silverlake, I passed a gentleman getting out of his car. He smiled. I smiled. And I continued walking up the hill to my car. As I was climbing in, I noticed him all of a sudden beside me in his car. He'd clearly gotten in his Yaris, turned it around on the narrow street and driven up to meet me. He motioned to me. I gave him the thumbs up sign. He wanted my spot, I assumed, and I certainly didn't object to him taking it. I drove out, turned my own car around and noticed he was now standing outside his car. His hair was dark and longish--he was like a modern-day Prince Valiant if Prince Valiant were a bit bulkier...and Persian. I rolled down my window and he approached.
'Hello,' he said.
'Hello,' I replied.
He is really grinning now. 'I have a question. Are you married?'
I am smiling awkwardly. 'No, I am not.'
'Ah, I like you. You are so beautiful. May I give my number to you?'
'I am actually seeing someone. I'm just not married.' I wave my hand to show him my ringless finger.
And we part our separate ways--he, still grinning, me, smiling but not sure why. I can't figure out if I'm flattered or offended. Granted, my post-workout glow was surely alluring. And I had smiled. But does my friendliness seriously welcome such crazed approaches from tall, dark, accented courters? Am I a walking target for wooing until I get a diamond on my finger? Well, I'll be heading to the 99 cent store soon after work then to pick up a faux bauble to sport on my ring finger.
Aspiring beaus beware.