For the most part, I am ignored by the opposite sex at the grocery, in bars, the movies, the mall, on vacation, in construction zones, at the mechanic, restaurants, Target, the library, the mailroom, the park, the post office, etc.
So why, on a quiet Friday morning at work, do I get asked for my phone number by a nomadic art salesman, traveling all this way from the far land of CINCINNATI?
And maybe it was the smell of good, cheap art, the fact that I was flattered or just plain bored, but I totally gave it to him.
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