And when I say secret, I mean, Double Super Secret. I don't even know his name.
Today, Diddy and I headed down to Willcox Livestock Auction for a fun-filled day at the Special Sale. As I mentioned previously, our outings are typically quite eventful (and in case you are wondering, he has not yet purchased the power cord that I can plug into the cigarette lighter...). We always knew Willcox would be super eventful, well because it's Willcox - need I say more? And I can tell you truly that it did not disappoint today!
To start off, we were standing outside of the sale barn enjoying the rainy weather when SuperStalker* approached us. Right off I could tell a few things about this gent - 1. He hadn't showered in at least a week. 2. There was something just not right about him. and 3. I didn't want to get trapped in a conversation with him alone.
So, Diddy and I indulged him for a little bit and listen to his babbling. Then we excused ourselves to get back to work. Unfortunately, he must have been mesmerized by my striking beauty, because he began stalking me. If I went outside - he went outside, if I was in the lobby - he was in the lobby. Always smiling at me with half-rotten teeth and talking nonsense to Diddy. I'm not going to lie - it was frightening, but nothing compared to what happened next.
There is a crazy family who resides in southern Arizona and has for a long time. They have a long history of being just a little left of center, sanity-wise. So they were at WLA today in full force. As I was working, I was introduced to one of them. The following conversation ensued:
Me: Hi. Nice to meet you, I'm Airplane
Him: Is PapaBear you're dad?
Him: Very nice to meet you.
(At this point I try to shake his hand, but he hugs me.)
Man Next to Him (MNTH): He's always hugging the pretty ladies.
Him: Nothing wrong with that, is there?
MNTH: Only if they have big boyfriends.
Him (to me): Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No (Why, oh why am I so honest?)
Him: Do you want one?
Me: (in my most polite voice) No, thank you.
Him: I have a son who's 30. How old are you?
Him: Would you like to meet him?
Me: (scared that the son may be at the sale barn, just smile nervously)
Him: I'll give you his number.
He proceeds to write his son's phone number down on the back of a raffle ticket and hand it to me. I can not make this up, people. I was traumatized.