Brown men love me.
I don't know what it is, but I have been approached by brown men on the street, in stores, at gas stations, on tours just where ever.
Today: I am not even trying to be cute-- really, I'm wearing an ankle length dark blue skirt, a pink tank top and a brown scarf around my waist. I didn't brush my hair before I pulled it back into a ponytail, I didn't shave my legs or my pits, lipstick is my only make-up, it's hot, I'm stinky and I didn't even bother to put on a bra. (trust me, this omission is certainly not why I was approached today, it's not such a great sight as that)
He told me I was gorgeous and that he would like to take me somewhere and show me off.
ummm . . . no . . . thanks.
But it got me thinking about some of the other strange encounters. It usually seems to occur when I'm feeling least cute. Furry legs, bad hair, no make-up, mismatched clothes-- those are the days. Not that there are so many days when at least one of the above stated is not the case, but generally they do not all occur on the same day.
One guy followed me around the shoe store staring at me feet to eventually reveal to me that I have beautiful feet.
In more exotic lands I've been told I "look like I came from the moon" or that my "face looks like the moon." (pocked, pitted with a greenish tint?!) One guy told me I was worth 700 camels.
You know how much that is? Me neither.
One guy asked me to marry him, not just in the 700 camels kind of way, but three times to be sure that I knew he was serious. One guy told me I was "shiny." I didn't even ask what that meant. One of my favorite compliments came from a guy who wasn't even trying to pick me up, and it's a good thing because the charade would never have lasted. He told me that my English was "very good."
I said, "Thanks."
It's true, my English is very good.