I'm pretty sure someone tried to pick me up yesterday.
I say pretty sure because I've never been terribly aware of the subtle dance between men and women. I probably would have done well in caveman times when the woman got hit over the head with a club and was dragged away by her paramour. Nothing understated about being hit over the head - I would never miss that clue.
I was at my coffee shop just waiting for my coffee to be made before going to the movies with Iven. Iven had declined a coffee, due to his ever-shrinking bladder that tends to require relieving at the most climactic moment of any film, so I was there by myself when a voice from behind me said "Excuse me."
It wasn't an 'excuse me because I ate a meal of beans and cabbage last night' or an 'excuse me because you and your enormous purse are in my way'. It was an 'excuse me, I'd like your attention' kind of excuse me. And, being that I was the only person there, I knew it was directed at me so I turned around.
And there he was. A slight, wizened man of advancing years with a peaked cap perched jauntily on his head.
"I just wanted to share this advertisement I was reading." He held out a magazine. "It claims it can help men get their self-confidence back."
I couldn't actually read the ad that he'd pushed in my direction but I watch quite a lot of late night TV programming and I know what can give men their confidence back - in the bedroom. It usually involves a nasal spray and the quirky little ditty - up your nose and away it goes.
A question flashed through my head - what exactly about me says 'talk to me about premature ejaculation'? Is it the red scarf? Red is a pretty sexy colour, I've heard.
I looked over at the barista, hoping desperately that my coffee was almost done but she was only just pouring the milk into the jug. No reprieve for me - I was going to hear all about what can make men get their self-esteem into better shape.
He pushed the magazine even further forward so I could see it more clearly. A picture of a woman running her fingers through her man's thick hair and the name of a company who promises help with hair loss. Phew! No need to chat with a stranger about the mechanics of the male organ.
My new friend went on to say that he found it sad that men might be so lacking in character (his words, not mine) that losing their hair would make them feel less about themselves. He himself was 90 and being a bit bald didn't worry him. And what did I think about bald men?
I told him that the only problem I could see with bald men is that they'd get cold heads in winter. Which made him laugh - hard enough to displace his upper dentures. And they never seemed to click back into place for the rest of our conversation. There's nothing more riveting than the potential horror of a denture being propelled with force away from its owner. Unless of course said denture was covered in the cake its owner had just been eating.
But before disaster could strike, my coffee was called. And as I said a relieved good-bye, he winked at me. That's when I realised that he was trying out his moves on me.
Or he might have just had a twitch in his eye. See I told you I wasn't good at this sort of stuff.