stay clean

It's always when I'm with Fred. I guess he makes me more approachable. Though, really, I think he just puts me out with the people more. Out with the crazy people, that is. That and I'm always with Fred. I've always been approachable, however, and I have in fact been certifiably certified as a 'very approachable' person by people who spend years of their lives studying such things.

But I digress.

So we're walking by the post office this afternoon and this fairly benign looking man walks past and I hear him gurgle something under his breath.

Oh God. Keep walking, Freddie, I think. Because Fred's a telepath and that's how we communicate.

And then the man says something more clearly, like, "Hey."

Keep on keepin' on, I tell myself. But my feet inexplicably stop and my body turns as if under the power of an outside force and my face breaks into an inquisitive smile of its own volition. What are you doing, asks myself of myself. I don't know, myself responds. I really gotta pee, Fred interjects. And he does.

"Um, yeah, hi," stutters the man distracted by the peeing dog. "Are you, um, a, um, student at Georgia State?"

I smile more broadly. Flattered. "Nope." Next question, please. He seems a little lost and we stand there awkwardly. Fred pulls at the leash.

And then the stranger has a stroke of genius. "Well," he says brightly, "I am!"

"Great!" I say, just as brightly, always a fan of someone else pursuing higher education, as long as I don't have to. (Sorry, mom.)

"I'm getting my masters in counseling," he says.

Ah. 'K, and? ? Oh. It's my turn. Right. Frantic search for the proper response.

"Sooooo. . . do I look like a person who needs counseling," I blurt and hearing the echo of my friend from the park in my retort, I continue smiling but try for 'smiling with warmth' and not smiling with 'Yes, indeed, I'm a nutjob. Thank goodness someone's finally noticed! Please! Lead the way to the nearest padded cell!'

He looks slightly crestfallen and drops his eyes, "No. I just couldn't think of anything else to say." And then, in what I can only call a hopeful manner, he holds up a small brown paper bag. "I was just in Sevenanda. I needed soap."

Huh, I think, smile wavering slightly.

"Huh," I say. "Well. Um. . .stay clean!" And then I high tail it out of there.

"Jeez," Fred says in disgust.

Yeah. Stay clean? Man, do I suck at the witty banter thing. Makes me really bad at flirting. I'm always stuck for the clever side-winding comeback that makes them want to come back for more. Not that I wanted this small soap-buying, pick-up-a-girl-and-her-dog-on-the-street kind of person to come back for more of anything. But still.

Stay clean?

*sigh*