28 Apr 2004

“Excuse me miss, are you over twenty-one?” HA!

Don’t you love it when people think you look a lot older than you are? Okay, unless you’re like thirty and have spent way too long in the sun without sunscreen and you look so hideous that people mistake you for someone ten years older, but that’s another story altogether. I was walking through the shopping centre in the afternoon after I’d changed out of my school uniform and the guy at the World Vision stall beckons for me to stop and listen to his spiel. (Oh, all the poor starving children… I am so damn heartless.) HA! And you know what the ironic thing is? I must have walked right past the stand a mere fifteen minutes ago wearing my uniform and not one of them gave me a second look! I didn’t stop because I had a train to catch, but I did smile at him like I would consider donating five cents a day to World Vision or whatever it takes to put a starving Ethiopian and all his relatives through school. I really should you know, except for the fact that I’m broke. And I’m already sponsoring people for the 40 Hour Famine.

When I came back through the shopping centre a few hours later in the other direction, he waved to me again, and tried to get me to look at some brochures. (Or something.) I suppose I should have given in and stopped, at least had a look at what he was trying to market. I don’t know why I didn’t, why I just shook my head and smiled and kept walking. He was kind of hot. Damn. Rightio – just to clarify: it’s NOT okay for a much older guy to be checking me out. (Unless he’s heartstoppingly gorgeous but let’s not get into that…) However, it IS okay for me to check out someone who is obviously out of my range. Double standards, you say? Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with ‘silly schoolgirl going off onto a tangent’ but there is definitely something wrong with older guy thinking bad thoughts about high school girl! Is that fine with you now? Okay then.

Maybe next time I go by the stall, I’ll stop and see what they want us to give.

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