Gay men love me

Once; coincidence. Twice; perhaps something to think about.

On Good Friday, I was browsing (ultimately unsuccessfully) for new shoes at a local Target store. As I was scanning the shelves for appropriate footwear, a young man — my age, or perhaps a few years younger — walked up to me and asked if I attended Western Michigan University. I suspect that my brown-and-gold “Western Michigan” T-shirt may have been a clue. Long story short, my interlocutor and I spent about 10 minutes talking about absolutely nothing, including the state of WMU’s philosophy program and the sorry state of US-131 in winter, at which point he gave me an inkjet business card and suggested I call him sometime to check on whether there are any “openings” in his self-run business.

OK; perhaps he is young and inexperienced and thought that chit-chatting for 10 minutes in Target’s shoe department is a good way to find new employees. Unlikely, but stranger things have happened. And it’s entirely possible that in the course soliciting these potential new recruits, he thought it prudent to tell nothing about the fabulous opportunities that await potential employees except that he’s in the “health products” industry. Perhaps.

This evening, as I was browsing the book aisle while for groceries at the local Meijer store, another young man approached me and started talking about the weather, launching into five-minute give-and-take about our respective jobs. In this case, though, the young man (probably in his mid-20s) was almost certainly flirting with me. Which was a shame, since he really was quite good looking, and a charming conversationalist to boot.

So … twice in less than a month. I lose 110 pounds, change my personal style, get out more … and I get hit on by gay men.

It’s a good thing I’m easily amused by irony.

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