The Mentalist

I was perusing the newly released DVDs when I felt a pair of eyes on me -staring. Not wishing to be rude, I flipped around to the endcap and shuffled down the next aisle.

"Hello!" said the staring stranger as he managed to block an entire Walmart aisle with his 5 foot frame. He smiled warmly at me from under a barrage af misplaced tattoos, piercings and rebel flag gear.
Not wanting to be rude --- or hacked into a zillion pieces in the Media section , I chirped "Hi!" back, smiled a big fake smile and then walked briskly back to my menfolk.

When the Harrys and I finally left I remarked I was relieved and told him about the guy who was staring at me.

"Oh," he said. "What, was he like old or something? Mental?"

I paused in the act of strapping in our wiggly 11 month old and met Big Harry's eyes in the rearview.

"So, lemmie get this straight. You think that the only reason a guy would stare at me is if he was senile or crazy." I tried to keep a straight face. "NOT that he thought I was cute or anything? Dick!"

"No, I, no!" my husband sputtered as he put the car in gear and avoided my gaze. "You said he- you made it sound - see? THIS is why people think I'm an ass! Don't post this on Facebook!"

"I won't," I assured him. "Dick."