'That scar on your face ...'*

So, today I was at the store, minding my own business, sniffing the contents of various bottles on the soap aisle (don't tell me you don't do the same thing), when up sidles a man of roughly 35 years. A tall man. A handsome man. A man who, despite his unquestionable good looks, might still consider reconnecting with his razor.

This man made no pretense ... he'd sidled up to hit on me. It was refreshing, actually. We chatted inanely about various scents we find appealing in bath products (we both prefer the cleaner, lighter scents, FYI). Then we moved on to candles, air fresheners and like ...

Anyway, I was thinking, "Hmm. He's awfully cute. And tall. And articulate. And stuff." And then he asked a question I get often enough: "How'd you get that scar on your forehead?"

I explained to him that I got this scar -- through which I communicate with Auntie ADoD -- while running from one of my brothers around the pool (I was around 2 at the time). I fell into the shallow end and hit my head on the corner of a step. It's a big enough scar, but it's mostly faded ... or so I thought.

Tall Cutie listened to my tale of woe and then said, "Really? Weird. 'Cuz it looks really fresh to me."

Um, Ibegyourpardon? Am I suddenly Bloody McGashyface? I took his comment -- and his number -- in stride, but my goodness! He's lucky he happened upon a woman who prefers original remarks, even when they're not particularly flattering.

*Props to whoever can guess what song this post's title comes from without looking it up.