So yesterday I was having my lunch break at Laughing Planet, minding my own damn business when this dude swoops by me, says “Sorry to interupt your meal”, and leaves this note on the table, and then exits quickly before I can even say a word.
“Hey, I’m Brian. So I gotta say, I keep being intrigued by you. Your solid* good looks only being half of it. What is the weird tattoo on your arm. What caused the bandage symbiosis, and how awesome was your morning that you needed to celebrate with an afternoon beer!
If you would like to answer these questions and more, Call me
-Brian” (and his number)”
*(or maybe it says sorid, which is not a word. He could have meant sordid, possibly because I didn’t wash my hair that day)
So. Fucking. Weird.
I understand being curious about the tattoo, it’s just a little art nouveau design that I liked. I burned my arm (badly, it’s really nasty) because I apparently haven’t learned how stove burners work yet. None of his business. And if I want a beer a three o’clock in the afternoon…. Again, none of his business. He should totally get bent. I felt so creeped out and actually vaguely insulted by this note.
I think the worst part of it is I never saw his face, so if he is currently stalking me, I won’t know. UGH!