Some More Randomness

I went to the local cafe for breakfast this morning. On my way home an older woman with improbably jet-black hair stopped me.

"What beautiful red hair!"

"Thank you."

"I saw another woman with red hair a moment ago, but her skin was too dark, it just didn't look right."

"Uuhh...."

"So who in your family had red hair?"

"Um, my grandmother on my dad's side."

"Yeah, there is it." Then she was on her way.

I neglected to mention that my grandmother, like me, colored her hair.

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Sometimes I would joke with Nicky about my reverse midlife crisis. Most people do the family life thing first, then around age 40 they freak out and decide they simply must go be artists and live in a garret in the big city. At leastI was doing one thing right though; I was running off with a hot younger man.

I also explained to him more than once that most people who date older guys usually make a point of seeking out the ones with money.

"I'm getting exactly what I want," he'd usually say.

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This incident happened about a year ago.

I'm getting off the subway at my stop and I see him. I recognize him immediately; I remember names and faces well. People comment on it all the time. He clearly doesn't remember me, but he makes a note of me. Whatever profile he uses for his marks, I must fit it perfectly.

He precedes me up the stairs. I follow along behind, watching him. When he turns around to make sure I haven't managed to slip past him, I stop and take a slow drink from my coffee. This happens twice on the short staircase. He doesn't seem to notice anything odd.

At the top of the stairs he stands just a bit too close to the rails. I consider simply asking him to move a bit, but instead, curious to see how this goes, I slide past him. He brushes one hand against my arm; the bag is dropped, the (already broken) glass makes a tinkly sound. Once he used a pair of reading glasses, but usually, like today, it's the mystery beverage in a paper bag.

"Damn, N****!"

He's a big guy. He's glaring at me. He's scary.

"I'm not falling for that, Man," I say quite calmly. He laughs. "Do you know how many times you've tried to pull this on me? I think this is the seventh, maybe eighth time. Hell, you were barely even trying this time. I've seen you do better."

The man keeps laughing, no hard feelings. Presumably he'll manage to fool someone else into 'reimbursing' him for the drink they just knocked out of his hand, but it won't be me. I wonder how many times he pulls it off, what kind of haul he gets on a good day.

I tell you what, I may look like I just fell off the turnip truck, but nobody cons me, man.