Day Six: Can I Have Your Number?

"Guys are a waste of time Abby. If you have time, spend it wisely. Not on boys. Chasing them away is an investment." 

- My Friend, Damian Els

My friends are the greatest.  And they are not only great, but they are wise too. 

Today I went to work. And as I hobbled into the frozen yoghurt bar where I work, my supervisors first reaction was a really bad word. I had no choice but to explain my project to her, as she seemed not only concerned, but somewhat annoyed with me. The rest of the staff, however, had no idea. 

I felt bad playing the sympathy card, as not only did my tips double, but no one would let me do anything. Customers even offered to help me sweep. Awkward. 

There also happened to be a really sweet middle-aged man, who upon walking into the shop, asked,
"So, how long are you on those crutches for?"
"Six weeks," I replied, without any form of hesitation. I was getting good at lying. And that may be a problem.
"You should try Smart Crutches," he said, whilst scribbling down a website on the back of a till slip for me, "They take all the pressure of your hands."
"Thank you sir," I replied. And I had never in my life felt so guilty for lying to someone, because he was so damn nice.

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"So, what happened to you?" were the first words out of this really sleazy-looking guy's mouth as he approached the counter where I was working.
"I fell off a horse," I gave my usual reply.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. That's horrible. How did that happen?" he asked
"Uhhh… I just fell, I guess," was what I answered him. I don't get paid enough to make conversations with creepy men.
"Well, I think we have a lot in common then. I love horses. In fact, I used to train them, and I even gave little kids horse-riding lessons."
"Oh."
"Yes! How interesting is that? It's probably a sign. Do you want to go to the beach with me tomorrow, and can I have your number?" he said, trying to be all cool.
"No. I just met you," I replied, picked up my crutch and hopped away.
So much for being nice to customers.

I don't know what it is about being injured, but it seems to make me a weird-o magnet (sorry for sounding judgemental). I bet you half a chocolate cake that those boys see me and the only thing that enters their mind is, "Hey, that one has a broken leg. She can't run away!" No, but I can smack you with one of my crutches.

You can stop laughing at me now, thanks.

FroYo Fo' Sho'