Can I be frank? I'm honestly not sure why you're hitting on me. It's Sunday, which everyone knows is my ragged/ don't give a fuck/ recovery day.
I'm at the grocery store propping myself up on the shopping cart, dodging other customers. You can tell that I am feeling rough because I'm wearing a hoodie, black jeans and fake Uggs, aka fuggs, from Target. (Lay off me! They keep my feet warm.) Cleary, I am dressed for comfort. I'm avoiding eye contact with everyone and I'm just trying to power through this trip to the store as fast as possible.
I'm not even wearing make-up! There's not one swipe of concealer on this face. My puffy, tired eyes look like Oreo Cakesters. I look like a hungover, cranky, uncaffeinated vagrant. No, really, I look like a hamper. I look like Jewel's car that she had to live in before she got signed as a singer. I look like a Jr. high lost and found bin come to life. There is nothing hot about me right now.
So, forgive me if I seem dumbfounded when you strike up a conversation. I almost argue with you when you ask for my number. Hello! I look TERRIBLE! If you consult the chart below, you will see that today is not my optimal day to be hit on. Observe:
I don't even start wearing eyeliner until Tuesday. By Wednesday, I'll start wearing perfume again. By Thursday, I'll swipe on mascara. And, by Friday, I'll blow dry my hair AND wear blush. As Metallica sang, sad but true.
Honestly, I will think less of you if you hit on me at my lowest point in the week. Aim higher. You're better than that.