Feeling: flummoxed
Listening to: Stone Temple Pilots - Plush
Reading/Watching: Hollywoodland

He comes by every few days, just to buy a newspaper or a magazine, and spends a few minutes extra at the cash register, asking me how my day is going, remarking that I'm always cheerful when he sees me.

I try to be subtle, avoid eye contact, keep my answers short and friendly, but not too personal, don't tell him much about myself, blatantly place my hand on top of the printer as the receipt scrolls out, so my BIG HONKING WEDDING RING catches the sunlight.

Today, he comes in saying I look nice, he likes my hair that way. It's in a ponytail because it looked like too much ass to wear down. I have no makeup on, because I want to avoid giving off the "I'm trying to meet someone" vibe. I give a small smile, ask him how he's doing today.

Then he goes for it. "So, what are you doing this weekend?"

"Working, working, working... I actually have four jobs, so I don't get much free time these days." This is not actually a lie.

"Oh, so you don't have time to get out and see movies or anything?"

"Not for a while, no."

He doesn't pick up on it. "But when you have free time, I bet you like to go out, have some dinner, be with friends, right?"

"Actually, when I have free time I tend to spend it with my husband."

Long. pregnant. pause. And I'm waiting for his receipt to print, wondering if my face is flushing, and also why the hell I'm embarrassed. When the receipt does print, I put it in his bag with the magazines and give him a genuine smile, and say like always, "Have a good day."

"Uh-huh. You too." He doesn't look me in the eye as he takes his bag and walks out the door.

Seriously, fellas. Check the left hand. Fourth finger, either conspicuously decorated or not. The chick could look sixteen, but it doesn't matter. I'm telling you this for your own good.

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