I Am Bringing It

Well, today I got myself a new boyfriend.  If you recall my previous post, I had acquired a new boyfriend a few weeks ago.  Sadly, it seems that directly after that post was written, he ceased working at that establishment and I haven’t seen him since.  Ours was a fleeting romance, apparently.  So fleeting, I hardly had time to pick a dress or flower arrangements.  Oh well, c’est la vie.  Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that.

And speaking of those fishies, I have apparently nabbed myself another whopper.  Hardly time for the corpse of my previous romantic encounter to get cold, but hey, what are ya gonna do?  Life is full of unexpected surprises.

It started innocently enough . . . with the need for a new watch battery.  I have this watch that I love.  The hubs gave it to me many years ago and I have replaced probably about 5 or 6 batteries over the years.  I usually go to this little shop around the corner from my office and they charge me about 7 bucks and have it done within a couple hours.  Well, this time I not only needed a battery, but also some additional work done on the watch as a couple of the little metal pieces indicating the number marks (like in between the 12 and 3 there are these 2 small metal dashes instead of 1 and 2) have come loose and get caught all up under the hands and randomly stop the hands from moving, thus rendering the watch somewhat useless for it’s intended purpose.  You know, telling time and all that.

So, I go to this little watch shop/electronics store/jewelry store around the corner.  There is this gentleman there today who is prepared to help me.  I explain to him my needs, and he says that if I just want a battery, it will be ready today, but the other things will take a couple days.  Which one do I want, he asks in a pretty thick turkish or greek accent.  I say I want both.  He says he has to go in the back to check with the guy to see how much and how long it will take.  I say, ok.  He then looks at me and says something else in his thick accent, to which I reply . . . “huh?”  He repeats his phrase: “you are looking very nice today.  This (motioning in a circular gesture around my head) is very nice.”  Oh, ok.  So I of course, being raised to be the fucking polite lady that I am, say, “ok, thanks.”

While he is in the back getting my prices (and let’s be honest, probably checking out my ass on the closed caption video . . . wouldn’t you?), I start to consider this statement.  I mean, obviously when I left the house this morning, I was thinking about presenting myself so as to attract the highest number of possible suitors.  I mean, I did shower today and clean all my dirty parts.  So when someone encountered my person they would not be offended by my odiferous scent.  I also applied deodorant and body spray, so as to keep that just out of the shower smell all day.  I additionally applied make up and blow dried and styled my hair, so that all of that area of my person would be considered “nice” by those who saw me.  Then, when I picked out an outfit, seeing as I was in my office today and not in court, I put on my loose fitting light blue button down blouse and black slacks with sandals, as I was obviously hoping some man type person would consider it a come hither gesture.  Especially with that top button unbuttoned right below my clavicle.  Rowrrrr.  Also, I have been packing on some pounds lately, and now those efforts of carb loading and wine swilling are obviously paying off, as someone has finally noticed the chunkiness which is now my rotund body.  I could not have planned this better!

When he returned, he brought with him an envelope, on which he asked me to write my name and phone number.  See what I mean?  I’ve been to bars before.  Many many years before, but still, the dating ritual cannot have changed that much, right?  I know a bar napkin substitute when I see it.  So I gave him my digits, of course. I want my new man to be able to contact me for any booty calls he may desire.  Then, when I asked when the watch would be done, he handed me his card and said, “just call me.”  Swoon.  Oh baby, will I ever!

Call me, baby!

So, I will keep everyone posted on my new love affair.  I’m sure this will progress quickly, despite our language barrier (who needs words when there is love?), his minimal amount of teeth (the better to kiss him by, I say) and the fact he is about 112 years old (maybe he is loaded!).  I know you’re jealous.  Sorry for my fabulousness.

Anyone else feeling the love lately?  Any wanted (or unwanted) attention from the menfolk?  Or ladyfolk?


16 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. sars!
    Sep 28, 2011 @ 13:28:08

    I think my friend dated him a few weeks ago.


  2. Jen
    Sep 28, 2011 @ 13:59:43

    Cheating on Straw Boy? Whore.
    The toothless Armenian guy at the Quik-E-Mart told me I looked ‘vewy pwetty’ today, so I am feelin’ pretty Fergalicious right now. Yippee!


  3. Danielle Geer (@deathbycupakes)
    Sep 28, 2011 @ 18:36:16

    Seriously, girl, you are becoming one of my favorite blogs to read. I have a similar relationship with our mailman. I’m pretty sure he puts those Victoria Secrets catalogs in my box because secretly, he’s pining to see me in something skimpy and leopard print. (It has nothing to do with the fact that the previous tenant was receiving the catalog and apparently never turned in a change of address form. I know it’s because he loves me. I KNOW IT.)


  4. Team Suzanne
    Sep 29, 2011 @ 07:59:21

    I’m hoping this Turk likes TV.

    And I’m definitely giving my mailman a second look today. I may have missed something.


  5. Paula @ thewilyweez
    Sep 29, 2011 @ 12:16:07

    I hope you got enough straws to last you a while, though I guess watch batteries are worth more on the black market anyway.


    • mistyslaws
      Sep 29, 2011 @ 16:14:20

      I am pretty stocked up on straws, honestly. He done did me good before he disappeared from my life.

      And yeah, I am movin’ on up in the world. Woo-hoo.


  6. Trackback: Bringing it . . . again! « Misty's Laws
  7. oxymoron1856
    Oct 03, 2011 @ 18:02:48

    This is what fairy tales are made of.


  8. EarleyDaysYet
    Oct 06, 2011 @ 01:46:30

    I was at a Sleep Clinic the other day, buying a new CPAP machine. Have you seen anyone wearing the CPAP mask? Mmmm, sexxy time… think “rebreathing equipment”.

    So I’m sitting in the waiting area (along with several other morbidly obese heffalumps & the oddly mortified skinny people wearing that I-genuinely-have-a-medical-condition-called-sleep-apnoea-that-I-did-NOT-bring-upon-myself look) and this old guy starts chatting me up. Even though I’m reading a book, because *obviously* people only read if they have no one to talk to. I’m being polite because I think he’s nervous or chatty or impaired in some way… until he puts his hand on my knee.

    Um. Are you SERIOUS? You’re my DAD’s age, you are NOT George Clooney, and … oh, thank God, I hear my name! So sorry, gotta run.

    He’s still there when I head to reception to settle up. He sidles up, and hands me a piece of paper. Written on it is a phone number, a landline, & instructions to “ask for Sandy, the nurses know who I am”. Oh. Good. He waves hopefully at me as I leave, and I throw away the paper as soon as I’m out of sight. *shudder*


    • mistyslaws
      Oct 06, 2011 @ 12:55:29

      Wow, that’s quite a story. And in fact, I have seen people wearing that breathing mask thing, and it got me all hot and bothered thinking about all the sexy things I wanted to do to them. Rowr!

      I’m assuming that he was an escapee from the local mental institution? Maybe he could hook you up with some good meds. You probably should have kept the number just in case you were lonely one night. He probably has many many many years of experience in the love making department. He could be a catch!! 🙂


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