Ah, more blathering about urban life.
Most of us women -- especially if you work on Michigan avenue -- have been accosted by them. They sneak up behind you on their stealth stilettos, shiny cell phone pressed to their ear clutched in well-manicured hands encrusted in clunky gold jewelry. They snap the phone closed as they match your pace, and say, "LOVE your shoes/bag/haircut/bracelet/banana clip/whatever!"
You wake out of your walking-to-work fugue, and proceed to graciously step right into their trap. "Thanks. I just bought them/they're totally old/um, do I know you?"
Well, I do, anyway. You might be smarter, and braver, and you might say, "get the fuck away from me, freakshow!" But, like, I'm not usually that quick.
Their pink lips curl into a shiny smile and they say, "You know, I'm a consultant for successful business women and I'm looking for someone like you! Do you have a card?" If you're me, you back away slowly, hands patting your pockets for potential weapons. Then they whip out their pink business cards, complete with lipstick shades on the back. That's right, people, it's the modern day incarnation of the Mary Kay lady.
You realize, in retrospect, that you should have known that anyone that well-made up would be one of the cosmetic giant's minions.
This morning, I was accosted in the least expected moment. Coming out of my home, stepping into the gated courtyard, I saw one of my well-coiffed neighbors teetering to the gate at the same time. I held the door for her, and she said, "Love your bag!"
(Small confession -- Okay, well, I recently accidentally bought this bag, which I can't take back because I love it. So, like, she hit me right in my achilles heel, there.)
ANYWAY, I said, "Oh, thanks, I just got it," and she said, "how long have you lived in the building," and blah blah and "What do you do?"
I said, "I'm in marketing."
She said, "I used to do that. Now I do training and coaching for professional women!"
She said, "I work for Mary Kay, and I love it!"
Me: "Do you have a pink Cadillac?"
Her: "I'm getting it in May!"
Me -- backing across the street to the safety of my car -- : "that'll be fun! Can't wait to see it!"
Her -- lunging toward me -- : "I should give you my card!"
Me -- diving into the front seat of the Civic: "That's okay! I know where you live!"
At this point I take a moment to breathe slowly, gripping the steering wheel for support, before I peel the hell out of there.
Fuck, people, the city is a dangerous place.