creep

A few months back I was pumping gas at a local establishment when a pickup pulled up opposite to me at the same pump. I didn't pay attention as my children were banging on the window glass singing some ridiculous tone deaf vacation bible school song. I was concerned that someone might mistake the off-key wailing and glass beating as a child abduction in process so I was intent on making my fill up brief to avoid an amber alert alarm.

The man in the truck tried to get my attention but I firmly enforce the personal NO-MAKING- NEW-FRIENDS-AT-THE-GAS-STATION-RULE. Bt, he was persistent so I peered around the pump to ask what the stink was so important. Then I saw it..... This was no normal 'hey, how are you' southern greeting this was a photo opportunity.

The man sheepishly and cautiously approached me wearing a wife beater and hot pink pleated cheer-leading skirt. I couldn't tell if I was being punked so I tried to keep my cool so I wouldn't look goofy on national television when Ashton Kutcher comes out behind the car wash.

Sadly, no Ashton, just a really creepy 30ish man with hairy thighs. He asked me if I would be willing to go into the store and pay cash for his gas as he didn't have a debit or credit card on him. I didn't ask questions because I didn't really want to know the story behind his get-up. I don't care if it was a prank, rush hazing, girlfriend abuse or some other less moral reason I don't want to know about. I paid for his gas and told him to 'shut up' when he offered his excuse. He told me I was beautiful and asked if I had a camera phone. I'm wishing I hadn't lied because I love to post his disgusting cross-dressing, exhibitionist self right here.

I haven't thought much of it until yesterday when my friend told me she met a hot pink skirt wearing man at the BP. The cross dresser has gotten a little more brazen but still he has the same outfit, truck and appearance.  She was less than thrilled as she had 3 preschool children in the backseat who were watching the performance out the windows.

I'm a little excited that the cross dresser chose me for his first victim. I don't know what it was: the mom jeans, unwashed pony tailed hair, sweat pants, bleach stained T-shirt, or the screaming kids in the backseat but I am hot stuff to immature men of questionable motives.

Dontcha wish you were me?