Today, while making the long drive back from Kansas City home to Lawrence, some guy tried to hit on me. While I was driving. And so was he.

Here I am, traveling down I-70, minding my own business, when some 30-something guy in a red SUV cuts me off and zooms past me onto the freeway. About a minute or so later, he pulls up behind me and starts honking at me. As I’m frantically looking around going “… is my door open or something?!” and trying to figure out what he’s trying to tell me with his very romantic honks, he pulls up along side me and waves. 

I wave back, say “creep” under my breath as if he can hear me and I’m going to hurt his feelings, and then start to pull ahead of him.

He speeds up along side me again and waves his phone at me. Naturally, I parrot him and pick up my phone, and, because I’m a moron, look at it to see if I missed a call or something. He then does the oh-so-sexy, lead-with-your-chin, how-you-doin’ head nod and mouths “WHAT’S… YOUR… NUMBER?” at me.

I shook my head no. He looked disappointed and drove away.

But then I got to thinking…

HOW would I have given him my number even if I wanted to? What exactly was he expecting me to do in that situation? I supposed I could have slowly yelled “SIX… THREE…”

Ridiculous.

I swear that shit like this only happens to me. My life is a sitcom.

But props to that guy for having the ‘nads to try.