And speedo guy sits down right next to me.
He starts making small talk, and I'm kind of hoping that I am not about to hear a pickup line, that maybe instead he's just one of those talkers. You know the kind I'm talking about, right?
And then, he says, "So did you have a nice day at work today?"
Me: I work from home, so yeah. I've got it pretty nice.
Him: Really? What do you do?
Me: I'm a writer. I write novels for teens.
Him: Oh, do they have any romance in them?
Uh oh. He's not a talker.
Me: Yeah. *edging away*
Him: Do they have... SEX?
He says the s-e-x word in such a thunderous, over-emphasized way that I can barely keep from giggling.
Me: They're novels for TEENS, not bodice rippers.
Him: Oh, so you write Nancy Drew stuff.
Note to you kidlit people out there: There are two kinds of YA books. Nancy Drew and borderline erotica. Which do YOU write?
Me: *not about to get into an argument* Something like that.
Him: So do you like to write at night, or during the day?
Me: I like to write at night, but I have three young children, so that's not exactly in the cards for me.
Him: Oh. I thought you were single.
Him: *thoughtfully* So what does your husband do?
Now, here's where my imagination got the best of me. Because I could say doctor. I could even truthfully say ninja. But the answer that popped into my head?
I can just imagine the conversation after that. I'd casually observe that my husband particularly enjoys cannibalizing weirdos in speedos. That I should probably get home because he hasn't had his dinner yet. And then inviting speedo guy over for a meal.
I didn't do it. But I should have.