Stranger Danger

Okay, so I had to exchange a pair of jeans today (the Danny DeVito ones). So after I leave the hairdresser, I walk to the store to exchange them. I walk in and it's very quiet, so I ask the guy with a jacket and scarf on, "Um, are you guys closed?" He says, "No, not even close yet. It's just cold down here, so no one is down here." I say, "Ohh, that's ok. Hey, do you have a garbage can? I just need to throw my coffee out. And then can you help me?"

Diarrhea of the mouth with a stranger that isn't typical. But he agrees to exchange my purchase when I'm done.

I go upstairs, find a bigger size (Lexi Losch had to find a BIGGER SIZE. EVERYONE PLEASE TAKE NOTE) and decide to try them on before leaving the store this time. I go to the dressing room and the guy asks me, "How many?" I say, "Oh, just one. A pair of jeans. I need to exchange them. Can you believe that I got a pair too small? I mean look at me. I usually just go for the smallest size possible and this time, it was too small! I couldn't even get them over my ass!"

::cricket cricket::

OMG LEXI, SHUT THE F*CK UP!!!! What the hell was wrong with me? Here's what's wrong with me: I'm comfortable with strangers.

I know, it sounds weird. But I feel most comfortable, I've decided, being around people I don't know when it comes time for conversation. Because I have this notion that I'm making someone's day by making them laugh, when in reality, they may think I'm some 5'2" Chester. With strangers, you can make quick and easy contact and never talk to them again if you don't want to. It's painless and almost like feeling fresh blood flowing through your heart. It's reviving.

And weird. I know. I'm sorry. Maybe it's the idea that I'll officially be a year older tomorrow, so I feel the need to end this horrible year on a positive note. Maybe I found the need to tell everyone that the jeans wouldn't fit over my ass. Maybe.......well, maybe it's just maybe. Maybe I'm just strange. A strange stranger. And I kinda like that. I'm ok with that. :-)