I was walking through Target today. Just minding my own business, don’t you know. My mind tripped that quick switch that goes from browsing knick-knacks to having the strange feeling you’re being followed. I was. Nobody is safe in the local Target.
Well, OK…I overstate that. I was perfectly safe in the Target. The man was about my age, smiled, and looked pretty friendly as he quickly turned the aisle to follow my hasty dart away from him.
“You’re the one I want on my volleyball team!”, he said.
I returned the smile and laugh. “You clearly haven’t seen me jump!”, I told him. “You wouldn’t want me on my team if you could see my lack of jumping ability”, I continued to warn him.
I pause here. For those of you who know me well, you have learned that when such lines are delivered to me by men…the compliment can go right out the window as they continue to speak. For those of you who don’t know me, go back a couple of entries and check out my Dara Torres blog.
Leave it alone, Dude. I’m smiling. Leave it right there. You don’t know that you’re about to blow it, but I dooooooo…
“I don’t actually need you to play”, he begins. “I just need you to stand there and scare the hell out of them.”
Really? Just as I was beginning to channel my inner Gabrielle Reece. Just as I was starting to stand a little taller, feel a little leggier, move a little more like a superstar.
Just for today, you can call me Gabby.