Ahhhh August. Month of back to school sales, last ditch summer travel, and warm warm weather.

Of course the month is also going to start out with the Maifain-San out of town for a night and the car still needing a bit of work.

And then there is the dentist appointment.

Those of you who read here semi regularly might remember my last horrifying dentist appointment… the comedy of errors that still haunts my dreams . I sincerely hope this one goes better. (How could it go worse?)

But before that adventure can happen I must share another one of those “aren’t you glad you aren’t me” stories.

I was on the bus the other day… (why do these stories so often begin this way?)… heading to a wedding of all things on a Thursday morning. It was to be a county clerk’s counter sort of wedding so my dress, while nice, was more sundress than formal. I also had a hat and, I have been told, looked a bit 1930s.

(I would insert a photo but alas, I ened up taking most of the photos at the event, so just use your imagination.)

As the bus barreled along, stopping ever blessed twenty feet to pick up more and more passengers, I suddenly became aware that one of the many conversations going on around me that I had been attempting to ignore, was actually about… me.

I can’t tell you specifically what made me realize this… a lot of “she” and “the hat” and “dress” words probably. Anyway, I glanced behind me and my suspicions were confirmed.

“Ahh! Now she pays attention to us!” crowed the man on the left. He was a big guy, in his 50s, greasy hair, ball cap, scruffy and blessed with one of those mouths tailor made for chewing tobacco and yelling red neck yodels.

“Yep.” Agreed the man on the right, younger, much more clean shaven, a large toothy grin and a cowlick coupled with the polo shirt and, I kid you not, a child’s lunchbox on his lap. His voice is semi child like.
I turned back toward the front of the bus.

“Now, don’t be like that, “Scruffy said, “We was just being conversing with you.”

I remained silent, trying to remember specifically what I had over heard.

“She’s ignoring us again!” Polo Shirt explaimed in a tone of mild wonder.

“Well, that just sucks don’t it. That just makes my ass twitch! Gimmie that pen.”

Pen? I swivel back around.

Scruffy is holding a ballpoint pen and pointing it at me.

”Wooo, oh yes, now you look. Nah, go ahead, turn back around I’m a gonna draw a spider on the back of your neck.”

Polo Shirt laughs happily, “A spider!”

“What?” Me now, trying to figure out what is going on, “No…”

“Yep.” Scruffy grins, his teeth are dark yellow, “A spider. It’ll really sex up your outfit.”

“Oh, umm, no thanks.” My neck hurts but I can’t bring myself to turn back around.

“Oh….” Polo Shirt is disappointed. His lower lip quivers. “It’s just a spider.”

“Yeah,” Scruffy is twirling the pen now, “Come on, it’s not like I was gonna charge you or anything.”

“No really,” I’m trying to stay breezy, “Thank you but no. I don’t think it would go with my dress.”

“Sure it will, spiders go with everything!” Scruffy throws his head back and laughs.

The bus slides to a stop and the riders begin the uncomfortable dance of standing, switching seat, moving from door to door. I take the chance and grab my bag. A few rows back, where the duo is safely in front of me and I am much much closer to the exit door, I sit back down.

“What? You moved!” It is their turn to crane their necks, and scruffy is belligerent, “Why’d you do that!”

I am silent, holding my purse, counting the stops until freedom.

“We was just being polite, stupid cow.” He frowns back at me.

“Cows, not spiders!” Polo Shirt has regained his sense of humor and is grinning again.

Eventually they turn back around and what follows is an indepth converstion about exactly how and why unicorns are magic, what the purpose of their horns are, how they are used in fights, and different ways to know if a unicorm has been present.

The diatribe is carried out mostly by Polo Shirt with Scruffy asking leading questions and generally encouraging the topic. I am very glad to be two rows back.

The thing is, after I got off the bus and my heart rate had returned to normal, I found the funny in the situation.

Well, a bit anyway.

Not to start a whole new “elevator” debacle, but here goes… Hey guys, Please don’t offer to draw spiders on the back of the necks of women you don’t know. It is creepy. Thank you.

And again, Happy August!

Published by kayliametcalfe

Queer,loudmouth,skeptical-agnostic-pagan,book addict,coffee lover,wine drinker, SAHM,writer,editor,producer,podcaster. -She/her

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