Pick Up on the PATH train

After my life changing decision to not tackle Rupert Everett, Chris Ian and I hugged and kissed Marc goodbye and then headed over to the PATH station to head home.

Have I mentioned that as much as I love the city, I had forgotten a few key things? Like how to be smart and safe. Fortunately, I'd been in the company of two gorgeous men all day, so I thought nothing of my safety as I walked around looking rather fetching (if I do say so myself). I had done my hair. I wore make-up all day. I had on heels. In short, I looked foxy.

I had been in the city a couple weeks earlier, again in the company of Marc and Sukhvinder, and it was a weekend so riding the train home was packed with people and I had no worries for safety.

I hadn't a care in the world as Chris Ian and I waited for the train with no crowds around us. I began to be aware of the situation when a gentlemen on the PATH train outright leered at me while Chris Ian and I were talking. It wasn't until Chris Ian got off at his station and I looked around that I realized I had forgotten how to scope out a safe situation. Midwestern suburbia has definitely weakened my street smarts. I was the only girl on a train full of men. And I looked good. More than one man was leering at that point without my Filipino male companion by my side.

This may seem improbable. I'm not the kind of girl that gets oohs and ahhs of admiration over my looks. Ever. And it's been a solid decade since anyone tried to pick me up. (Except that one guy at the bookstore when I had two small children and a husband at home. It had been so long that I nearly wept with gratitude for his apparent admiration.) (Oh, and the guy at the gym that one time.)

Lest you dismiss this and think it was all in my head, let me tell you what came next. The guy who was responsible for opening and closing the doors sat across from me and said, "You look tired, honey." I weakly smiled, and replied that I was. At which point he said, "You want me to hold you so you can sleep?"

I laughed and told him no thanks. And then he got up and moved to a different car. Apparently, it was a rough shoot down.

When I got to Newark to wait for my husband to pick me up, I was again the only woman on a street corner full of big burly men. It occured to me that I was something of an idiot. And then I wondered if anyone would mistake me for a hooker. My hair was big enough. But my heels weren't high enough and I wasn't showing enough cleavage. That was something of a comfort.

It's the little things.