It’s exceedingly rare these days that I get hit on. Between infrequently leaving the house, a steady decline in my hygiene since 2020 and the fact that I broadcast “happily married” in my every step, I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.

So yesterday afternoon when the guy in the co-op parking lot started flirting with me, it was like a lost art waking from a winter slumber.

I’d been standing in front of my car, texting while waiting for friends who were inside shopping, when he crossed the parking lot towards me.

“That’s a nice car you have there,” he weakly began.

I chortled. My car is not nice. It’s covered in dirt from sitting more days in the carport than being driven. It has dents. And it’s also one of at least half a dozen cars just like it in town.

I raised my eyebrows and said, disbelieving, “Really?! A red Honda fit is pretty average around here”.

That conversation ended quickly. He tried again.

“You new to town?”

“No,” I responded. “I’ve lived here for four years. We live in Chimacum”.

But already enjoying the weird charade by this point, I reciprocated, “What about you?”

“Lived here a couple of years”, he said. Our conversation meandered for a moment.

Then I asked a real question.

“So, why did you come over here?”

“You mean why did I move to Port Townsend? Well I…”

I cut him off.

“No, not why did you move here. Why did you walk across the parking lot just now to talk to me?”

He paused. His eyes widened. I could almost hear the creak of the scales tipping back and forth in his head.

“Uh, I wanted to talk to you because you looked attractive”.

“Ahh,” I said. “It had nothing to do with my car, did it?” He smiled, blushed and shook his head.

I was laughing at this point. Gazing at the bright sun behind his head, I couldn’t help but comment, “Isn’t truth refreshing?”