Was just at the mall dropping something off and got swarmed by those smarmy, estate-agent wannabe young men, who assault female shoppers with compliments and makeover offers. Usually I just veer away and give them a stern look, which is meant to communicate either that I’m already too beautiful to require a makeover, or too far-gone to care (it depends on the day). Today, it meant, “Don’t breathe coronavirus on me, you pimply schmuck.” Then, I said, “Stay away,” and was pleased to see it actually stopped them at about six feet, so will have to remember that.
After dropping stuff off at the mall, I went to feed the pigeons at the Water of Leith. There were construction workers on break lining either side of the path, so I felt kinda like a showgirl traipsing down a line of costumed men, and one said something to me, which I assumed was nice, so I smiled back (well, I hope it was back — he was wearing a kerchief over the entire bottom half of his face, so maybe he was giving me the look that I gave the makeover boys). The kerchief and his Scottish accent meant I had to resort to my polite, glassy-eyed social nod, which I employ in such situations.
But, then, as I scattered my seed (that sounds kinda gross, but I am a woman, so it’s ok), he said something else. This time, he and three of his mates (who were all wearing face kerchiefs, as well) had positioned themselves on the bumper of their lorry and were watching me, like they’d climbed off the stage and were now in the audience. I assumed that they were fellow pigeon lovers, admiring my selflessness, and so gave a conspiratorial nod, which I last deployed with a construction worker at the Turd Hotel, who then told me he raised racing pigeons in Granton and taught me a lot about peanuts.
But today's construction worker stood up and kept gesturing at his crotch, and for awhile, I had no expression at all, but then I realised he was telling me to do up my jeans zipper, but it was already zipped (that’s a first). So, I frowned and gave him my stern look, but he shook his head and at last he took off his kerchief and said, “Your earphones. They’re falling on the floor. You’re about to step on them.”
My earphones, which I had removed from my ears so as to hear the happy purring of the pigeons as they feasted, had come out of my waist pocket. I thanked him profusely, as he pulled up his kerchief and gave me a look, but I didn’t analyse it too much.