So I went to the Mall today to
have a new battery put in my watch, and as I was walking through the center
aisle fake texting on my phone to avoid eye contact, one of the kioskovites
turned the tables on me and used the ruse to initiate a conversation.
"Are you texting me?"
she asked with what I imagine was an accent from somewhere 6-10 hours ahead of
us.
Not being a complete asshat, I
felt forced to reply. "No," I smiled.
"Do you have a wife?" she asked.
"No," I replied, getting ready to turn and run.
"I help you get one," she said, "hold out
your thumb."
Now I was curious. What could be so wrong with my thumb
that a trained professional could see its wife-repelling attributes from ten
yards out? Was she going to coat it in gold? Dip it in chocolate? Staple Ellen
tickets to it? Tattoo excerpts from Fifty Shades of Gray on it? Scrimshaw it
into a bas relief sculpture of Edward Cullen from Twilight?
She grabbed my hand and sanded down my thumbnail.
Within seconds I withdrew my hand from hers and said
"No thank you, I have to go."
She smiled that disappointed "Damn you American Slob
for making me waste my time on your weathered meat-hooks" smile and turned
away as I beat a hasty retreat.
It was about ten minutes later when I noticed I was unconsciously
rubbing my index fingers over my thumbnails and comparing them as I walked
around the mall.
It feels really nice.
That bitch. I can't stop now. Seriously, I just did it again
after I typed that last sentence.
I might have to go back and get the other
one done.
