I hate those kind of people...the ones that stand right up your ass in line, like we're a bunch of kids in the lunchroom and someone might come and cut in front of you if you leave too much of a space between yourself and another person. I turned my head to glare at said no-space-giver and as I did my face was literally met with his. An older gentleman's fucking face was practically all up in my neck. As I turned, he caught a glimpse of my chest tattoo and said how nice it was. "It's beautiful work. Did you get it done here in town?"
I was in the middle of saying thank you and telling him where I get my work done, when he started circling me and inspecting me like I was a display at a gallery. He pondered over each piece...studying it. At this point, I'm just keeping my eyes forward. I could feel my cheeks getting red and I just wanted to push him. Seriously...what the hell was taking the guy at the register so long?! It felt like the longest line on Earth and there were only 2 people ahead of me.
Then no-space-giver spoke. I guess he could see the look of disgust on my face or something.
"It's ok. I tattoo."
Like this is supposed to make me feel more comfortable about him being all up on me. Really.
So, if some random dude in a bar starts pawing at my boobs with one hand and sticks his hand in my hoo-ha with the other, then tells me, "It's ok. I'm a gynecologist." I shouldn't be worried? Or freaked out in the least bit?
I felt yucky. He did step back when I obviously wasn't going to engage in conversation and told me to take care of myself as I walked out the door. Oh, I'll take care of myself, mister. Especially with weirdos like you walking around this city. Fuck.