Sometimes I wonder what other people think of me.
Not often, but sometimes I do.
I know that there are plenty of people out there who just don’t like me. (Just ask any of my exes.) And that’s just fine.
Sometimes I wonder what the guys at the shop would say about me, if someone asked them: “What’s she like?”
Am I . . .
I think that I am all of these things and more . . . but I realize that the guys at the shop don’t really know me very well.
None of them hit on me, so obviously none of them think of me in “that” way. Or they know I’m too old for them; or they respect the fact that I am unavailable. Maybe I’m just the chick at the meat shop to them.