How you doin'?

I don't get hit on or flirted with much any more, to the point that I usually don't recognize it when it actually does happen to me. This has been going on for as long as I've been with Mr. EM. Once I snagged his attention and managed to maintain it, I no longer cared whether or not other men were looking at me. In fact, Mr. EM notices it way more than I ever have.

In the grocery store: "That guy is totally checking out your legs." What? I turn and see a guy in the aisle with us, but he doesn't seem to even notice I'm there. However, when we move into the next aisle he's there again and lo and behold, I do bust him staring at my legs. Huh.

At a street fair: "That guy is trying to figure out if we're together. He wants to talk to you bad, but I'm cock-blocking him." Who? I glance up and a (rather cute) hippie guy catches my eye and smiles at me. At the next boothe we visit, he's there again, smiling again. Weird. This went on for a few more boothes until the guy finally either noticed our wedding bands or just gave up.

These things don't bother Mr. EM in the slightest. He's always been quite confident in our relationship, as he should be. He actually finds it amusing and a bit of an ego boost, just like I do. I just wonder when my flirting radar broke down. Because even when he's not present, he can tell when someone's hitting on me and I'm still clueless.

Last summer, for instance, Big M. was at camp and I had taken Little M. to a local park to play for a bit. A guy (much younger than me) was there with his niece, who happened to be around Little M.'s age and they hit it off splendidly. I had brought a book with me, so as they ran around together I headed to a bench to read...my favorite way to neglect my children during the summer. Anyhoo, Uncle Youngster wandered over to my bench and started asking harmless questions and making general comments about the weather and the park...I thought he was just making that random small-talk that parents make in public places when they don't really know each other. Then he complimented my tattoo, then he wanted to know if we lived near the park, then he said he hoped he'd see me around again some time. I later rehashed the conversation with Mr. EM and he said, "Sweetie, that guy was totally hitting on you." Really? Is that how it's done? I'd forgotten. I kind of thought he was just being friendly since our little ones were getting along so swimmingly. I'm still not convinced, but Mr. EM is clearly more in tune with a guy's brain than I'll ever be, so probably the guy was hitting on me. And, since I'm not a cougar, ew. Seriously, he was probably in his early 20's, the kind of guy I look at and mentally name "Doogie".

And that is the last time I can recall being hit on by someone. Which is fine. Sure, being flirted with can make a girl feel good, but I have a man at home that makes me feel good most of the time. I rather enjoy not caring what I look like when I'm out and about, throwing my hair into a ponytail and pulling a shapeless t-shirt over my head to run errands or just pulling on some comfortable jeans and running a brush through my hair before I go out with the girls. When I go out with Mr. EM, I try to look nice, but it's for him. I know what he likes to see me wear and that's what I wear. It's very liberating to no longer be "out there". Maybe it's that feeling of liberation that had shut down my radar. Or maybe I'd only been hit on in recent years by guys who were more subtle than most.

On Saturday, I had a few errands to run. It was about a million degrees outside, so I put on a pair of khaki shorts and a brown tank top. The tank top was a hand-me-down from MIL's friend, so I had tried it on when I went through the many garbage bags of ugly clothes, but hadn't worn it since. It fit nicely, maybe a little more low-cut than I typically wear, but I didn't look like a Hooters girl either, and I was actually feeling pretty good about how I looked in it. As I got ready to go, Mr. EM said, "Hey!", with a leer. I followed his eyes down to my chest and said, "Is this too low-cut?" He assured me it wasn't...though now I wonder...he just told me that I looked nice and he hadn't seen me wear that "little top" before. I headed out to the library...

...where I proceeded to be ogled by a couple of teenage boys. Wherever I went, there they were, openly staring at my chest, for crying out loud. I rushed up to the counter, checked out my books and got out of there, thinking "horny teenagers!", like any 30-something married mother of two would. I drove to Target...

...where every human with a penis seemed to be checking me out, regardless of age, sex, race or marital status. Some of them even had their wives/girlfriends right there with them. "What the hell is going on?", I thought to myself. I caught my reflection in a mirror and took a good look and seriously, I still don't get what all the fuss was about. I looked like my normal self in a cute brown tank top. I am pretty blessed in the boob department, but still...I think I'm a pretty good judge of when I'm showing too much. I've tried things on in stores before and nixed the purchase due to too much cleavage. This did not seem to be one of those tops, but something was up. I do not get noticed like this on a regular basis. Last stop, Kohl's...

I had a few things to get at Kohl's and I was taking my time. It was nice and cool in there and I just love wandering around that store, looking at all the things I would buy if money were no object. I was looking at some cute summer dresses and a guy walked by me and asked if I was finding everything ok. Yes, I was, I assured him. Then I thought, that's odd. I've been to this store a hundred times and I've never had one of their employees come up and ask me that. That's something I've always liked about our Kohl's...they leave you alone. I continued on to the boys' department, and up popped Mr. Helpful again, "Can I help you find something?" Um, no thanks, dude. Then I went over to the shoes and he wondered if he could help me AGAIN. At this point, I really took a look at him and he was...go ahead and guess...STARING AT MY CHEST. I waited until he made eye contact with me (which took a couple of seconds) and said, "I'm good," in a pointed tone of voice. He turned red (seriously) and scooted off. I thought I was rid of him.

So, I took my purchases up to the register, where a young woman started scanning them and, I kid you not, Mr. Helpful came racing up to put my items in a bag for her, giving me a grin in the process. You know, Kohl's isn't the grocery store. I've never, ever had the experience there of one person taking my money and another bagging my purchases. This was a little over-the-top. It was like something out of an 80's Tom Hanks movie, I half expected him to knock over an old lady on his way to the counter. I pulled a little canvas bag out of my purse and told him I didn't need a bag. He snatched the bag out of my hand and put my stuff in it, commenting on how convenient it is that the little bag fit in my purse and how cool it is that I'm doing my part for the environment. I think I smirked at him. Then I paid the check-out girl and headed out with my purchases. In what I can only assume was his last-ditch effort, he held the door open for me as I exited the store. To say I was bewildered by all of this attention would be an understatement.

I didn't exactly have great luck with guys during my single years and I certainly didn't wander through my days getting hit on and stared at by random guys all the time. I couldn't help but think all of this unusual activity over as I drove home.

I brought everything into the house and Mr. EM followed me into the kitchen to help put it all away. I turned to him and said, "You're all pigs!" He started looking around him, apparently wondering what he and the M.'s had done to provoke that statement. I gave him the run-down on my library/Target/Kohl's adventure and he chuckled. "What do you want me to say, sweetie? You look good!" He snaked an arm around my waist and gave me nice, long kiss, then he took one of my bags and started putting things away.

I took another bag upstairs and took a good, long look at myself in our bedroom mirror. I saw what I always see: a 30-something woman who's a little too thick in the waist and thighs, with thin hair that never does what she wants it to do and breasts that were once quite voluptuous but are now on the saggy side due to a couple of gluttonous babies using them as a food source for the first year of their lives. I still didn't get it. But I'll tell you this, gentle readers...all of the attention I got on my shopping trip that afternoon was nothing compared to the compliment and sweet kiss I got from Mr. EM when I arrived home.

Maybe I'll wear that brown tank top the next time we have a date night. (insert my waggling eyebrows here...)