“Hey there. How’re you doing?” I turned around to see if someone was behind me the middle aged guy must be talking to, but no one was there.

“Umm, pretty good,” I answered a little confused. I just wanted to stand in line in the crowded Wendy’s and be quiet for a few minutes, but it looked like that wouldn’t happen.

“Say, have you tried the new salad. It’s really good?” He was really trying. “You look like a girl who watches what she eats,” he said winking.

I squinted thinking about that. Was it a compliment or did he think I needed to watch it? Either way this was getting annoying. “So do you eat here often,” he went on.

Are you kidding me I thought. Was he trying to pick me up in a Wendy’s order line? Now that’s classy! I started looking around for Jim Brawner who surely put the guy up to this.

“Do you live here,” he asked. Who was this person who looked a little like a combination of my high school principal and Orson Wells?

Almost to the counter I asked, “Do I know you?”

“No, not yet.”

“You know, I normally don’t talk to strangers standing in line unless they’re tourists asking for directions or dinner suggestions. Besides this “girl” is the mother of three and grandmother of 7 and my husband, who I’ve been married to since the Nixon administration, will be here any minute. I’m way past the expiration date on flirting.”

“Oh,” he said a little surprised. “Well, it never hurts to try.” He turned around, got out of line and left. I ordered a salad … and a frosty.

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