Let me paint a picture for you.

I’m a girl running around like a chicken with her head cut off during a busy day. There are plenty of awkward scenarios, one of which includes standing in an elevator with a guy looking about 28 who is carrying a big box. 

I compliment him on his shoes. He says thanks.

He gets onto his floor, I get onto mine. A little while later, I see the same guy looking about 28 carrying another box. He stops me, puts his box down, and introduces himself with his full name. He then asks me mine, and I oblige. 

He then asks me for my phone number and to find him on Facebook, and asks me if I am hungry. 

I politely decline and am on my way.

No, I am not flattered. No, I do not feel special. I feel insulted. We talked once, and he thinks that is an invitation to insert himself into my life. He thinks that I am that easy that I would just give him my phone number after a 30 second conversation. This is not the first time it has happened.

Honey, you have to work for my phone number.


About returntoneverland

All around procrastinator, screw-up extraordinaire.
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