“I’ve discovered a phenomenon,” he exclaimed.
The statement seemed directed at me, but I had never seen this guy in my life. Was he speaking to someone behind me? I looked around...
Nope. I was the unfortunate target of what was to become a dreadfully awkward exchange.
“What’s your phenomenon?” I probed wearily. Can’t a girl just walk to class in peace?
“My knees are sweating.”
(Apparently, this sentence negates the socially-accepted norm of introducing yourself to a stranger.)
I tried hard not to balk at my nameless acquaintance. “Your KNEES are sweating?”
“Yes,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve never had it happen before. Do yours ever do that?”
“Um . . . sometimes if I go on a long run outside in really hot weather the backs of my knees will sweat.”
“But it’s not the backs of my knees. It’s the fronts.”
“Oh . . . uh . . . maybe you have hyperactive knee-pores or something?”
“Maybe. I wonder why that happens.”
Of course, I didn’t have the heart to suggest that this “phenomenon” could possibly be attributed to the fact that he was drastically overweight—the obvious answer. Instead, I bumbled through the next thirty seconds offering various explanations and searching for a way out of this bizarre conversation. I pretended I had a class in the next building.
“Well, this is my stop—good luck with those knees!”
“Okay,” he said. I briefly saw the light flicker out of his eyes upon realizing his attempt to hit on me had failed. “I’ll see you later then. Have a good one.”
He seemed like a nice guy. Really, he did. But honestly, if “my knees are sweaty” is your line-of-choice for picking up women, you’ve got some serious self-evaluation to do.
This conversation taught me an important lesson: never underestimate the lengths a desperate returned missionary will go to. This fellow obviously hadn’t been on a date in a long time (if ever).
I feel for the guy though. After all, dealing with sweaty knee-balls is no picnic (so I’ve heard). Perhaps the side effect of this medical oddity is vision loss. Or, in particular, the inability to perceive stones of a precious nature. In the form of rings. On left hands.
The statement seemed directed at me, but I had never seen this guy in my life. Was he speaking to someone behind me? I looked around...
Nope. I was the unfortunate target of what was to become a dreadfully awkward exchange.
“What’s your phenomenon?” I probed wearily. Can’t a girl just walk to class in peace?
“My knees are sweating.”
(Apparently, this sentence negates the socially-accepted norm of introducing yourself to a stranger.)
I tried hard not to balk at my nameless acquaintance. “Your KNEES are sweating?”
“Yes,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve never had it happen before. Do yours ever do that?”
“Um . . . sometimes if I go on a long run outside in really hot weather the backs of my knees will sweat.”
“But it’s not the backs of my knees. It’s the fronts.”
“Oh . . . uh . . . maybe you have hyperactive knee-pores or something?”
“Maybe. I wonder why that happens.”
Of course, I didn’t have the heart to suggest that this “phenomenon” could possibly be attributed to the fact that he was drastically overweight—the obvious answer. Instead, I bumbled through the next thirty seconds offering various explanations and searching for a way out of this bizarre conversation. I pretended I had a class in the next building.
“Well, this is my stop—good luck with those knees!”
“Okay,” he said. I briefly saw the light flicker out of his eyes upon realizing his attempt to hit on me had failed. “I’ll see you later then. Have a good one.”
He seemed like a nice guy. Really, he did. But honestly, if “my knees are sweaty” is your line-of-choice for picking up women, you’ve got some serious self-evaluation to do.
This conversation taught me an important lesson: never underestimate the lengths a desperate returned missionary will go to. This fellow obviously hadn’t been on a date in a long time (if ever).
I feel for the guy though. After all, dealing with sweaty knee-balls is no picnic (so I’ve heard). Perhaps the side effect of this medical oddity is vision loss. Or, in particular, the inability to perceive stones of a precious nature. In the form of rings. On left hands.
They're cute when you're little. Not when you're 25.
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