Ever heard this line?  Me too.  Ever immediately know there are nine million strings attached to whatever follows?  Me too.

I debated about writing this.  I haven’t even told my husband about it.  Then I realized that this sort of thing happens so god damned always that I don’t even think to mention it anymore.  If I mentioned every incident, there would be multiple incidents a day and I would be ignored anyway.  Nevertheless…

My husband is out of town for a conference and I am on my own.  I went to my quilting circle as usual, had a perfectly lovely evening with some very talented and hilarious women.  Afterward, I went to grab a bite to eat at a local restaurant.  Since I was alone I sat at the bar.  It was about 7:30pm.  I just wanted to eat, relax and go.

A guy named John was sitting two chairs over from me.  I said nothing to him.  Didn’t even make eye contact.

I ordered a sandwich and a beer.  Not that that matters any more than the fact that I was wearing a thong.  (I was, and I only mention it because a woman who was raped recently had to watch her attacker go free because a jury believed that since she was wearing a lacy thong underneath all her clothing she was “asking for it.”)

John initiated a conversation with, “I see you ordered a beer.”

I smiled politely and nodded.  That’s what a polite woman is trained to do.

He continued.  “Most women your age don’t order beer.  They normally order wine or vodka.”  In my head I was like, “Because right now you are proving we fucking need it,” but I smiled again and tilted my head congenially.  Fortunately, my food arrived just then.

“Are you a beer connoisseur?” he inquired.  “No,” I replied, thinking I sounded slightly irritated in an as yet polite way.  “Oh.  Well why did you order beer?”  “It sounded good,” I said.  “Ah.  I’m retired, but I used to sell beer and wine and liquor.  I had the L.A. territory.”  “Ah.”

If this sounds stupid, it’s because it was.  I stared deliberately at my food and went to work eating it.  Next thing I know, he puts his iPhone between my food and my eyes.  “Look!  I’m about to win Solitare!”  Yes, he was playing Solitare on his phone and no, he was not retarded nor did he have Alzheimer’s.  I gave a quick, half-hearted, “Ha…”

“I’m very active in my church.  I love my church.  Do you go to church?”

“No.”

“Are you a Christian?”

“No.”

“Oh.  Well, I have three children and four grandchildren and they are beautiful.”

“Good for you.  Congratulations,” I replied congenially and genuinely happy for him for a brief moment.  That was all he needed.

“I love my grandchildren.  They are wonderful.  And I love my church.  Very active in my church.  My wife passed ten years ago and the church has been wonderful for me.”

“I am glad you found comfort there.”

“Do you have children?”

“No.”

“Do you have any plans to?”

“No.”

“So no husband?”

“Actually I’m married?”

“Oh?  How long?”

“Four years now.”

“How old are you?”

Jesus…

“I’m 45.”

“Oh.  I’m 79.”

“Oh my, you don’t look it.”

“Well thank you!” he beamed.

Fuck, here we go…

“You know, at my church they teach us something.  It’s to give to others with no strings attached.  Can I ask you something with no strings attached?”

“Maybe.”

“No strings attached, I would like to buy your dinner, but I ask one thing in return…”

He really doesn’t get the “no strings attached” concept and I know there is more to come.

“What is that?”

“Within the next week, you have to do the same for someone else.  Give something to someone else, no strings attached.”

“Very well,” I agree.

And just like that, I got a free dinner.

Except I already paid for it in my time spent with someone who was clearly after something else.  They always are.  But I let him buy me dinner because I had, in my view, already earned it, and I wasn’t quite finished eating yet, loquacious as this guy was.

He signed the check, and I kid you not, this is how the rest of it went.

“You don’t have children?”

“No.”

“Do you want any?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That ship already sailed.”

“Hm.  What are you doing the rest of the evening?”

I rolled my eyes and looked away.

“You’ve been around the block.”

It wasn’t a question, but for anyone counting it was an obnoxious statement at best.

I didn’t answer.  Keep in mind, this is a short, rotund, out of shape, 79 year old white man.  I could put him in a wrist lock without thinking about it and make him squeal.  Yes, that sounded like fun to me in that moment.

“Would you tell me if I’m out of line?”

“At this point, yes.”

“Oh… Well, would it be okay if I came home with you?”

I rolled my eyes and looked away.  “No.”

Thankfully, someone brought me a to-go box right then and I stood up and began packing up the remainder of my food.

“I’m clean, I don’t have any diseases…”

“Thank you for dinner.”

“You haven’t finished it yet!” he protested.

“I’ll eat the rest of it around midnight.”

“What are you doing?  Are you leaving already?  Why do you have to go in such a hurry?”

He reached over and put his hand on my arm.  I shrugged it off.

“I have three large dogs to feed and I need to clean my guns.”  I hope the reason I threw that in is obvious.

“Guns?  You have guns?”

“Thank you for dinner.  Good night.”

Let’s sum up, shall we?  This guy went through every angle.  He tried being smooth.  He tried being sweet.  He tried the grandfather bit.  He attempted to insinuate he was a good Christian (whatever the fuck that means in this day and age—no offense to you, Mel), then he played the widower card thinking that would buy him a pity fuck, then he bought me dinner thinking that definitely bought him something, even though there were supposedly no strings attached.

I played the polite woman, to a point.  I allowed him a foot in the door by even acknowledging him in the first place.  And why?  So as not to make a scene.  The closest I got to making a scene was insinuating I possessed animals and weapons that would prove to be a lethal threat to his personal, physical being should he entertain the idea of following me.

Everyone else around, I noted, saw what was going on and said nothing.  Did nothing.  They all sat motionless, silent, waiting to see what I would do.  I was a gladiator in an arena to them.

For those of you cringing at me letting him buy me dinner, allow me to be clear:  I knew what was going to happen at the very beginning of the conversation that I did not start, and I figured since he was already annoying the fuck out of me, if the mother fucker is stupid enough to offer to buy me dinner, then he can pay me for my time, and when he inevitably gets even more fresh than he already did, I can walk away.  The only thing he didn’t count on was me not feeling in the least beholden to him.

To my younger female friends: EVERY SINGLE THING HE DID WAS A PLOY.  All of it.  If you are single or married, out and about, I don’t care who he is, how cute he is, how much money he appears to have, how sweet and innocent he appears to be, it’s a ploy.  If he offers you an out-of-this-world job it’s DEFINITELY a ploy.  And by the way, younger, more savvy men will use all of this shit on you but they will also drug your drink when you glance away for a moment, and then you really are in trouble.  I don’t care if you are out with your friends or your boyfriend/girlfriend, or your husband/wife.  It happens and you are always vulnerable.  DO NOT let anyone get the drop on you.

To my male friends: I like you guys.  You have proven yourselves to be good people.  Please do not think this narrative reflects upon you from my perspective.  You have my utmost respect for being wonderful people.  But understand, as women, we are tired.  We have to fend off potential attacks at every turn.  Had the guy in this scenario been something of a physical threat, I personally would have excused myself to the ladies room and never come back.  I stayed because I was hungry, I could handle him, and fuck that guy, I’m eating my damn dinner.  Even so, those kinds of come-on’s make my skin crawl.

PLEASE tell all your friends, relatives, whatever NOT to be that guy.  We don’t like it.  It is not remotely flattering.  It is insulting.  But more than that, it stresses us the fuck out.  You are not suave.  You are not cute.  Your officiousness is rather unforgiveable in and of itself.  The arrogance that goes along with, “I’m-a-whiteguy-talking-to-you-and-since-you’re-relatively-unresponsive-buying-you-dinner-so-you-then-have-to-let-me-verbally-assault-you-by-way-of-unrequested-proposition-even-though-you-clearly-came-in-here-seeking-only-a-meal-you-know- you-want-me-so-just-take-it” is phenomenal.

News flash:  We don’t like that shit.

And some of you wonder aloud why we interlace our keys in our fingers when we walk to our cars at night.

We are tired.  We are pissed off.  Our adrenals are shot.  A polite veneer IS NOT acquiescence.  It is what we are trained to exude.  But that only goes so far.  And I promise you, if you don’t start reading social queues correctly, you’ll pay for it.  One way or another.