Are Wellington boots sexy?
Ashley asked to me go shopping for some mayonnaise, so I pulled on a pair of bright green welly boots, dragged my bushy hair up into a tufty ponytail and scrubbed my blotchy face and got ready to go out into the rain. I topped the look off with a giant overly big snow boarding coat that is too long and makes me look like a scary dwarf.
I went off in the slashing rain and headed towards the supermarket that is inside the petrol station.
The aisles are so narrow but I headed for the vegetable rack and decided to pick some red onions, as I did this some onions fell from the box, hit my toe and went hurtling under the display. I sighed and turned to walk away when this young guy stopped me “Did you drop something there?” he asked in his American accent, his teeth were the bright white that young Americans have by sheer DNA. He looked like a student, he had a bag slung over his shoulder and he raked his hand through his spiky dark hair. He didn’t move, he stood there and stared at me.
‘Holy Fuck’ I thought, I must look so much like a mad crazy bag lady that he can’t bear to look away.
“I dropped some onions and then kicked them under the display” I mumbled.
He stood there and still hadn’t moved. I began to feel uncomfortable, I knew how I looked, I had caught one of those scary side glances as I leaned into the fridge to get some cheese and the mirror reflected back a witchy hag in wellies with piggy wee eyes and blotchy skin.
“Excuse me I am staring” the young American spoke “Can I ask you a question?”
I thought he knew I was a comic and that explained the staring and he was going to ask me a comedy related question, so I finally relaxed about how I looked, I smiled and turned to him and replied “Yes please ask away”
People behind me started to push past as we were blocking up the aisle, the guy raked his hand through his hair again, and he smiled, looked me right in the eye and said
“Can I have your number and maybe we can go out sometime?”
I was absolutely gobsmacked; I really didn’t think he was going to say that to me. I flushed from my toes up and the man behind pushed at my back to get past.
I simply looked at the guy and said “No” then stumbled off soaked in embarrassment and clumsily battered my plastic basket against the legs of poor shoppers.
It was hard to ignore the guy in the shop, it really is a small supermarket and every time we crossed paths, he smiled and would stand at the side, throw out his arms in a gentlemanly gesture and let me pass him every time. I sloshed past him, welly boots smacking off the backs of my legs making big clappy noises that made me wish a robber held up the petrol station and shot me by accident and I never had to endure the ‘clappy slappy wellies’ and face the young American in the frozen food aisle.
I was leaving the shop when the guy came back up to me and said “Goodbye, you know if you change your mind, we can swap numbers”
I looked at him and finally faced the situation I took a big deep breath and blurted out “Listen mate, I am 46 years old next week, I am old, grumpy, I have skin that no longer fits me properly, I need 12 hours of sleep just to make me feel ok on a daily basis, I have grey hair on my eyebrows and I am scared to see where else I am grey, I haven’t had to be nice to a man to get a fuck in 27 years, I am not going to play out your Mrs Robinson fantasy, find someone else who does, and thanks for he compliment, I do appreciate it”
The guy merely spread open his arms and walked off, I hauled my bags up further to stop them from banging of the wellies that were banging off my legs and walked straight into my husband who had been standing watching me to chat to the American boy who fancied old women.
“Why were you yelling at that boy? I could hear you as I came round the corner” husband asked me as he took my bags from me and tried to turn his face away from the driving rain.
“He was asking me for a date, look at me… do I look like a woman who picks up young guys in a supermarket?” I asked him with frustration.
“You look sexy, the wellies are really dirty and I am sure that’s what enticed him, I am horny just looking at those rubber boots, you bad woman making young men sexy at your funny boots” he joked and put his hand and took it mine as we walked against the rain.
All I could hear was the noise of those fucking rubber boots slapping off the backs of my jeans all the way home.
I am quite touched now, that some young guy fancied me so much or maybe he is one of those evil men that murder woman he meets randomly and I looked like the perfect victim?
‘So here’s to me Mrs Robinson’_