Did that just happen?

I was going to do a Dev session today, but something happened, and I have to write about it, mainly because I am so perplexed by what occured around 3.30 this afternoon.

You see, I got chatted up.

In the middle of a pandemic.

While waiting for the traffic lights.

By a sober, not skanky, age appropriate man.

Like what the hell is going on in the world?

I think the last time I got chatted up today's song was in the charts. (That would be about 1996 - yep that sounds about right.)

Okay, some things about me.

• I'm a middle-aged woman, ergo, I am next to invisible most of the time. 
• I'm currently rocking a Stevie Nicks hairstyle.
• On any given day, I will happily talk to anybody. I've always been like this.
• I've lived where I've lived for over ten years. 
• I've got a rotten track record with the male of the species - great as mates, but yeah, let's leave it at that.
• Walking to the supermarket in a fetching green tunic, leggings and running shoes is nothing new. It's a pandemic, as long as you're clean and out of your pyjamas, you're presentable. 
• I'm basically the mad cat woman of the district. I own this title. 

So, today, I incorporated a walk with a trip to the supermarket. A walk around the streets, down by the brewery, along the river and round about the houses to get the steps up. All good. Grabbing my keys, phone, shopping bag and wallet, I took off down the road. 

The tyre shop was open - well half-open. There are an eclectic lot of shops near the tram shop. There's the muso hub where you can buy drums, guitars and amps. There's the brothel, complete with  a neon sign with lips and a lollypop. You see men going in and out of the Candy Club at all hours. Not so strangely, you never see women going in. 

And there's the motorbike and tyre shop. I cross their forecourt most days to get to the tram stop. There are all sorts of beasties in the motorbike area - Harleys, Ducatis, BMWs - big bikes - they hire them out.  They're good to look at. I've spent many a rainy morning under their awning waiting for the 109. 

The shutters were up on the tyre shop workshop. One of the guys wanders out and says hello. As a description. Tallish. Pretty fit. White grey hair on the long side. Blue eyes. Goatee. Harley Davidson t-shirt. 

He strikes up a conversation.

In a pandemic, I've found you will talk to anybody who's two metres away. It's nice to talk to people in person. Just talking to somebody in the flesh is a novelty. 

I asked his name.

'Adam.'

'Pandora.'

He'd come to the shop to work on his own car to get out of the house. Good reason to get out. 

It was a pleasant chat. How's the shop going? Am I still working? How are you fairing in these strange times? Can you believe the government wants to track our mobile phones - they can't even run a bloody census. Normal stuff which you talk about with strangers at the tyre shop outside the tram stop. 

Looking over at the workshop shutters, there was a Ford Ute up on the blocks and a very, very old Toyota ute over the pit. He asked if I wanted to have a look.

Why not? I thought. 

Another weirdo fact about me. I spent a little time in the car trade. Not much, but enough to know I like cars and big motorbikes - but don't ask me anything about them. Pretty to look at and admire but that is as far as it goes. 

The old Toyota was in bad shape. It had been stuck on a farm under a tree for the last 30 years. They'd got it working. 

'Paddock basher?'  I asked. 

'Yep. You're a country girl?' 

'Yep. Grew up on a tractor. Used to have an old EJ Holden.'

'Definite country girl.'

'Yeah. Don't tell anybody.'

As I said, just a normal, nice chat about cars. 

He said he'd offer me a cup of tea, but he had no milk.

And I was off to the supermarket to get supplies, and really, I should be off. 

We had a look at the bikes in the showroom. The big Harleys, the roadsters, the ones that would buck like an untethered washing machine on it's spin cycle. I know enough to keep thoughts like that to myself, but yeah, there is something very primal about having a Harley between your legs. 

But enough of that. 

I said I'd kept him long enough. I said I'd shake his hand if it wasn't illegal and thanked him for the lovely chat. 

He said he'd love to give me a hug.

He told me he'd has his eye on my for years. Seen me most mornings at the tram stop. 

And we said our goodbyes and I skipped off down the road, tail all fluffed up, shaking my head, completely and utterly flummoxed. 

Like shit likes this doesn't happen to me.

It's a pandemic. People are going a bit mad. 

Men don't chat me up.

We really are in a twilight zone at the moment. 

Today's song: