Spider Girl

I’m at work and a lady about my age comes up to me and asks me to point to her my favorite sunscreen/facial lotion. I figure that she’s one of those customers that wants me to make the decision for them, you know, to keep it simple. I walk to the facial wall and point to my favorite. “That one,” I say.

“Why is it your favorite?” She has short blond hair, kinda shaved in the back but jaw-length in the front. She’s wearing these beige and black printed pants that manage to be poofy but clingy at the same time.

Now I’m wondering if I misread that she was trying to be low maintenance, but I’m not sure if this is a money issue or if she wants a few more options or if she just wants to know about the product, so I start prattling on. Years and years of natural beauty care experience rolls off my tongue, and I ask her some questions while checking her out.

She has tattoos. I don’t have any, but I appreciate ink. Flowers on her arm, some kinda design on her wrist. She turns her head slightly and then I see it.

On her neck is a giant spider tattoo with a skull abdomen.  It’s so detailed it looks like it’s crawling up her neck.

I hate spiders. HATE SPIDERS.

But then something weird happens. I dig it, like really dig it. And then I notice her beautiful wooden gauge. She looks me in the eye. I mean, right in the eye.

She’s my fucking height too. Oh man.

Normal Beth would flirt with her shamelessly for however long she wanted. Normal Beth would ask her loads of questions, sneaking some in about the girl’s hobbies or whatever. Maybe we’d talk music, and I’d definitely get close enough to get whiff of her. She’d either see my ring and roll with it or see it and not. Whatever. Flirting is fun.

But this wasn’t Normal Beth.

I don’t know who I am in this moment.

I forget what I was talking about COMPLETELY. “So, uh, if you have any other questions, I’ll be around,” I say. But I wasn’t going to “be around”.

I bolt into the back and RUN into the break room. My sweat smells like Campbell’s fucking chicken noodle soup.

It takes me several minutes to even process that I am in the break room. I think she was flirting with me.  And I forgot to smell her.

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