It's true. There is a bakery whose Coconut Jam Cookies I am addicted to. This, together with one of their Ham and Cheese Baguettes has become a regular meal of mine. I've been popping in their a couple of times a week and last week the girls that work there started giggling when I went in. I placed my order and as I was paying, amidst many nudges and looks from her friends, one of them turned to me and asked "Are you married?"
Now, I wasn't exactly prepared for this question during my lunch break, but my mind did it's old trick of thinking of something for me to say and before I knew it, cool as a cat, I said "Not over here!"
Ohhhh yeah. I figured this was easily the best answer. If I had said yes, they wouldn't have believed me. If I had said no, then it would have meant free reign for trying to get into my pants and buying my lunch would have become a battle ground between pleasant refusal, and not getting a sneeze sandwich. This answer said; I have commitments, and left how strong they were vague.
I hoped this meant they would see how I played it before they made the obvious jump to trying to marry me.
Oh how wrong I was.
I was in their today, again getting my ham-cheese-coconut medley, and as they were making my lunch she asked me where I lived. I gave her the rough area, she smiled at me, and continued making my lunch. They started chatting away in Thai, looking at me, chatting some more, they got a girl out the back to come and look at me before she dived back through the door looking embarrassed. Then as I once again came to pay she pulled a classic move. She held out my change, I went to grab it and she didn't let go. Then, as we are both stood there holding the money she looks me right in the eye and says "Maybe one day you will take me to your house."
Now, this was not a pleasant offer from a much frequented bakers merchant to come and admire my interior decorating. As much as I may think my Iron Maiden poster is reflecting the Post-Georgian Era while retaining strong ties to the Modernist influences that shaped my youth, I'm much more inclined to believe that she just wanted to bed a foreigner and then bleed me dry of cash.
Still, the way she said this to me was not something I was prepared for. Even more so due to her colleagues being stood not a foot away from her when she asked.
The best I could come up with was a very weak and very Hugh Grant "Oh! Well no. No thankyou. I mean, thank you for your offer but. . oh . . errr. . .no thankyou." It was horrible, I turned red, she grinned at me, her friends gave me that knowing smile and I turned even redder. I made my exit and I swear I heard laughter behind me.
I felt like such a floppy Englishman on the way home. A bumbling floppy crappy floppy Englishman. I cant believe how stumped I was. I mean, out on the town I'm prepared for things like this with a bag of witty responses and a belly full of Scotch.
Next time I'm in there I've got to try and get some of my credibility back.
How, I know not.