day 6, to a stranger

Day 6. A stranger
Hey, this is fun! So fun that another friend has joined the party. Check out Tyler's blog. The university I attended has loads of creative writing and a great writing community; it's exciting to see them all again in the blogosphere.

Dear Sir,

I know that my dancing in the supermarket seems a bit unconventional to you. I'm not hurting you. I'm not even the one that's standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking everyone's way. You can read the cookie boxes much easier when you step closer. You wouldn't have to squint. If you did this, you would be out of my way and not interrupting my dancing.

There are a few things you have to understand:

1. I am American. While most people don't dance through their grocery shopping, though it's strongly encourage (by me), people know better than to blatantly stare. It is also American music, you know. When you choose American dance music–though Lady Gaga does NOT deserve to be trapped in the white aisles of this grocery–you should know it's coming. Don't take our music if you won't use it properly.

2. I can't help it. Sometimes, I think I'm still dancing in my head, and I only realize I'm not when Joe looks at me more frequently than he would if I weren't dancing. It happens when there's music. It's what's supposed to happen when there's music. It could be worse. I could sit down in the aisle, talk to myself, collect items from the shelves around me to read and then leave it all in the middle when I finally buy 5 large bottles of water. But NO. Nobody stares at THAT woman.

I've hesitated to tell you this–because sometimes it's flattering and because, well, I'm afraid you'll attack me. If I happen to be sort of smiling when I walk down the sidewalk, it is not a come-on. And your smiling, your leaning toward my face, your stopping to stare–it really needs to end. I'm not sure who decided this was okay. I want to punch you in the face and scream at you, but I know that means you'll just shout mean things at me next time instead of things that really could be quite flattering if they were not shouted at me in the street, from the doorway of a bar.


With affection Sincerely,
Megan


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