As I passed them, I overhead one of them say: "We should form a company for children who want to get rid of their parents." These weren't teenagers, they could have been barely eight years old. I stopped moments later and lingered, wondering if I should go back and interview those kids. It would have been fun, it would have been interesting. As I wrestled with this, I realised the mums might be wary of my motives, so I walked on, passing over the chance.
Someone who did grab the moment, accosted me on my way home from the Melting Pot that same day. An elderly man age-wise, but tall, white haired and good-looking. He wanted to know the name of the perfume I was wearing. I laughed. For years, as I've blogged about, I have gone up to strangers of both genders and enquired as to their perfume, always explaining that it wasn't an attempted pick-up.
I gave the details to this man, and as we were walking in the same direction, continued in conversation with him down the road. He was obviously interested in perfume, so I offered to send him a list of my favourites, if he gave me an email address. He did just that. Five minutes later we parted company.
Later that evening, I dug out his scrap of paper, sent the information. It was only after doing so that I noticed he'd written his phone number down. As I haven't yet received an acknowledgement of my email, I am left wondering if it was a genuine request or if he had something else in mind but didn't receive the right vibe from me - on my way home for a family dinner.
Whether or not his intentions were honorable, his parting comment: 'Good choice (of person to stop). I like your style', gave me a much need fillip, after yet another day of depression-provoking weather and uninspired writing.
Jane
P.S. Eventually did receive an acknowledgement of my list of perfumes from the charming aforementioned man. I was pleased to hear from him and to know that our encounter had no hidden agenda.
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