I got hit on at the park yesterday. By a high schooler.
It was hilarious. I was walking Chay (who was none too pleased at this point after walking for a while, all hot and panting and acting like she was on the verge of death), and he tried to act all cool, complimenting Chay and asking my name. I knew where this was going, but it was too funny to stop. He asked if he could walk along with us for a while. He said his name was 'Big N'. I must have repeated it in a somewhat incredulous tone (I'm usually not hit on at all, much less by boys named 'Big M- not really my style), so he backed down, and said his name was Morris. The he said he normally doesn't do things like this, to which I replied 'But here you're doing it', and he laughed, then asked me for my phone number.
I smiled, and politely told him I was married. He immediately looked at my hand. I cursed myself for leaving my ring at home (I'm a bit paranoid, since it was my grandmother's), and swore to him that I was indeed married.
I told Q, and he said I should have just told the kid how old I was, which was a way better idea. Why can't I think of these things? He'd probably laughed his ass off, hitting on a near-30-year-old. Or then again, maybe he likes the older ladies, and that approach wouldn't have worked at all. I'll have to remember it for next time. What am I saying, there probably won't be a next time. My body is slowly sliding into the land of wrinkles, dry skin, and cellulite. Hell, I rarely even get carded anymore. Sad.