A few weeks ago, I was stopped by a random passer-by on the sidewalk a couple of blocks from my apartment building. At first, I thought this adorable suited stranger was going to ask for directions, or tell me my skirt was tucked into my underwear - instead, he asked me if I have a boyfriend.
After blushing, I replied with my witty go-to answer to that question, which is: "Nope - no boyfriend. I have a husband, though!" (totally missed my calling as a comedian). His response was "He's a lucky man" - and he walked away.
I, on the other hand, didn't just walk away. I John Travolta'ed my way home - and I think I may have even shot my doorman the 'guns' on the way into my building.
I burst into my apartment, showering Chris will boasts about how "I've still got it" and how "He'd better watch out, because there's a line of future ex-husbands waiting for me on every street corner" and saying "Oh, sorry you have such a smokahontas for a wife"....
This barrage went on until I could tell he had tuned me out completely, at which point, I continued patting my own back - to myself.
For about 10 days, I milked this encounter for all it was worth. My inner soundtrack had "Stayin' Alive" on repeat, and I worked it. Look, New York - I DO still have it, Dammit! Look at me go! I'm goin' on with my bad self - don't try to stop me now!
Last week, same time, same place, I passed the same guy. He stopped me again.
Dude: "Do I know you?"
Me: "Not really. I think we bumped into each other in this exact same spot at this exact same time not so long ago."
Dude: "Oh. Do you have a boyfriend?"
Me: (mental Stayin' Alive record sk...sk...skipping) "Still married, Dude."
Dude: "He's a lucky guy."
Me: (he'll also never let me live this down)
Looks like I'm not the only one with a couple of go-to lines up my sleeves.
And John Travolta, I am not.
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