In light of it being a year since one of the most mortifying moments of my life I felt it necessary to share my wonderment as to why I attract such... well... odd attention.
The most mortifying moment of my life (haha I hear you laugh... you probably think you were there, but you weren't. Only one person I know was and believe me that was enough.
So, I'm casually walking down a street in Bilbao having enjoyed a delightful picnic on the top of a hill for Valentine's Day (was not in the slightest bit romantic... Friends win over V Day any day). And suddenly and elderly Spanish woman, accompanied by her husband, taps me on the shoulder and says "Eh... un hilo, un hilo..." Whilst my Spanish is pretty good by this point, I wasn't quite expecting someone to inform me about string... So very confused, the lovely old lady recruits another passing couple, who then surround me, whilst she bends down and breaks a hanging thread off my clothing. From my leggings to be precise. The arse end.
To make it all worse, she then HANDS ME BACK THE THREAD. Gee thanks, just what I always wanted. Meanwhile, Helen stands there in hysterics as I turn red and have one of those rare moments of speechlessness.
One event you may thing, in 21 years of existence, is not too bad. But no, there's more. There was the lady from the Mental health charity who approached me, and not my mother, at a showing of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest to see if I was interested in mental health. Maybe she thought I was a carer. There are also several strange fellows who approach me in bars and impress me with the fact they are from the Isle of Man. Not weird you say, well it is when you're stone cold sober and working there. There were a far few in Spain who would join me on public transport and spit at me through their gummy smiles. How do they all find me?
I think I get it from my father. One of my first memories is being on a tube at about the age of 6 (this is also a night I got into a cab with my Auntie and the driver didn't know where were were going, so my Auntie shouted 'FOLLOW THAT CAB!' at the car in front... high point of life I feel) and my dad was being filmed by a bunch of Romanian soldiers. They were lost, so my dad helped them out and paid for their tube tickets. Massive legend, but he was probably being stitched up for reality TV.
Perhaps the happiest weirdo I've ever stumbled across is my current housemate, who I affectionately call Wifey. The Cheese Story is the best story on the planet, and will go down through my family for generations if I have anything to do with it. I would write it here but I feel that 1. The wife would kill me, and 2. It's a much better story if I can tell you outloud.
Maybe it's my face, too approachable? Or maybe I just also look weird so these people feel they can relate to me. Either way, if the one in a million can be anything like some of the friends I have now, I'm pretty sure I can deal with not knowing why these things happen to me.
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