Why do people only think I'm hot when I'm not available?

My appearance is on par with what I think the Unabomber would look like on a bad day. Im wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt. The hood is half over my head. On top of that is the kind of ragged overcoat that Judd Nelson surely would have worn in a John Hughes movie.

My Reeboks are not even real Reeboks, they are Reject Reeboks. I'm wearing two different colored socks. I have on a ragged green and white rugby scarf that looks like it has dreadlocks rather than fringe on the ends.

In short, I could not have looked worse if I tried.

I am listening to my CD player on a pair of headphones held together with electrical tape. My glove (I'm only wearing one because the other one was lost on my way) is the cheap kind that make your hands looks HUGE because of the poorly placed seams.

Mothers pass by and pull in their young, the pigeons won't even come near me.

Only one glimmer of light shines from my despicable figure...my wedding band. Shining like a Celtic knotwork lighthouse, it catches the light.

That must be it, because why else in the world would this man come up and sit right down next to me. My first thought was that is must be my husband, who else would sit so close to me in the middle of Washington Square Park where there are so many benches?

I turn slowly, partly because I'm so tired and partly because I'm going to slide my arm around him. My hand begins to move to his waist when I realize that it's a complete stranger!

I jumped back, startled. The man looks at me and smiles. I look back, perturbed.

There's nothing for me to say, really. I mean I'm the one who started to put my arm around him.

The man chuckles and asks me,

"Did I frighten you?"

"No, not at all." I reply, and I move a little ways down the bench.

The man moves towards me a little more.

"I just couldn't help noticing that you look exactly like Michaelangelo's 'David'."

I am speechless, the man moves along the bench next to me again. He's not very much older than I am. He's not crazy, or rather his attire doesn't give credence to any assumption of his insanity. In another place at another time I would probably have thought him very attractive.

"Um...er...thank you." I stammer.

"I was wondering if perhaps you'd like to go for coffee sometime?" the man asks me. Things are getting stranger and stranger.

I get up from the bench and start to walk away.

"I'm sorry, I'm not single." I tell him and I pick another bench. The man makes a pouty sad face and walks away.

Ironically, this is not the first time something like this has happened to me since I got married. That ring on my finger must be some kind of man magnet.

Four years later...

I have just gone on the biggest clothing shopping spree of my life. I'm single and almost completely over the crushing blow that is known as Divorce (termination of domestic partnership, whatever you want to call it). I'm feeling good, I'm about 30lbs lighter than I have been in years. I'm wearing some awesome clothes, my hair's natural hue is back and better than ever. I'm impeccably coiffed and ready for action.

My friends and I head out to a club in Brooklyn. I'm just going to have a good time with no expectations. But hey, I look good and I know it. Girls whistle at me from cars on the way to the club, (true story).

We get into the club and we have a few drinks. I look around and check out the people there. My friend turns to me and says,

"You look better than most of the people in here tonight."

I'm very flattered, because this particular friend is not one to give compliments out lightly.

I catch a glimpse of my bare hand, no ring, and I get filled with a sense of exhilaration. New day, new me. Nothing can stop me now.

Exactly...

NOTHING! Not one person even looked at me the entire evening.

What is up with that!

The only thing I can chalk it up to is this...

"Why do people only think I'm hot when I'm not available?"

This writeup is a work of fiction and was inspired by When did everyone get so attractive? by Chiisuta