…or are you just happy to see me?

I had a rather interesting encounter this evening at the grocery store…with a man carrying a gun.

As I ran in to grab my baby roasted chicken, Wisconsin horseradish cheddar, oil-cured Greek black olives, and fresh loaf of French bread (nomnom), I noticed in passing a rather attractive man completing his shopping tasks, as well.

At the time, I paid no mind until I proceeded to check out and he got in line behind me. Being a very slow Saturday evening, in hindsight I can’t help but wonder if him getting in the same checkout line didn’t have an ulterior motive, considering how many other lines were empty.

As I packed my groceries and he paid for his, I did a look-over: t-shirt, shorts, flipflops…and a sidearm.

The guy was not concealing – he was packin’ heat. That’s not a riske euphemism. The guy had a gun at his side.

Unaccustomed to seeing many plain-clothed civilians with guns, I looked at him and said, “You’re wearing a sidearm.” As if the guy was completely oblivious to having a weapon clipped to his waistband.

Duh.

The guy smirked and jokingly said, “Here to protect you, ma’am,” as though suddenly assuming the role of John Wayne’s sidekick in a spaghetti western.

The rapid-fire wit that I’ve been known and hated for my entire life abandoned me. “It’s going to take a lot more than that pop-gun to take on THAT task.”

Ok, so I thought it was funny, as did the voices in my head (they’ve always got my back).

Silenced by my weird reply, it hit me that I could have done so much better at that conversation, and I realized how rusty I am.

Damn.

Does anyone know of classes that can be taken to brush up on flirtery? Is that even a word – flirtery? If it’s not, I’m laying claim to it as of right now…the only lay apparent for the unforeseeable future.

I’m going to go open my bottle of Chardonnay…*sniff*

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