Mr. Smiley

So, yesterday at work was an interesting one. My responsible adult self decided it would be a good idea to finish off the Greenbush Bakery doughnuts that I'd bought the night before. So, for breakfast, lunch and dinner I had doughnuts and coffee.

By the time I got to work I felt! Like! A million! Bucks! Also, everything was funny to me. Lack of sleep, I'm sure, had something to do with that.

Anyway, there's this guy I call Mr. Smiley that's been coming to eat at my restaurant for the last several weeks. Clearly, the man has a thing for me, but it hasn't ever gotten creepy so much as weird.

Well, every single time he comes in he makes some mention of my smile. If you take a gander at my photo above, you can see that it looks like I have never smiled in my life. But the truth is, I smile a lot. I smile until my teeth hurt. My whole face scrunches up, and my cheeks get all chipmunky, and I SMILE, gosh darn it. Constantly.

Mr. Smiley seems to think I don't. Every time I walk past the table, "Hey! You should smile more!" Um, okay. Maybe I'll train myself to smile in my sleep. Although, if I can't train myself to stop screaming at imaginary spiders in my sleep, I very much doubt I can train myself to smile in my sleep.

Yesterday he was there again. Now, I don't mind him, really. He's pretty nice, and he always leaves a good tip. But yesterday, in the middle of a conversation, he said to me, "Now, I must admit I'm a little disappointed in you."

I thought to myself, If he even thinks about telling me that I'm smiling less than usual, I'm going to bite his face off.

But he didn't. He said, "I found our you're married!"

I said, "Oh. Um, sorry?" Then I coughed nervously and scurried away. What I was thinking was, Have you never seen a wedding ring before?

Ok, men. If a woman is wearing a shiny metal thing with maybe sparkly stones in it on her left ring finger, at least ask if she's married before you get your hopes up. Please. I don't care if she looks like she's 16. Just. Ask.

So, I was made slightly uncomfortable by that, but I didn't want to be rude, so I continued waiting on him. Later, as he was walking out the door, talking to me, he said, "You know what I told your boss?"

"Oh, what?" I said, and then I expressed extreme interest in a piece of red jello stuck to my dirty wall.

"I told him it just wasn't fair to have such beautiful women like you and Sandra working here."

"Oh, uh, really? Uh, hahah! You're too kind!"

"Oh, you're blushing!" He crowed, as if violating my sense of propriety is something to be proud of.

"Yes, I'm blushing because I'm half your age, I'm married, and I'd really rather be anywhere else than here right now. Thanks. Oh, and this jello? Is fascinating. See how its color perfectly contrasts this rich brown chocolate smear?" Actually, I just grunted. But that's what I wanted to say. That's what Superhero Naomi would have said.

"Well, I told him it was better in some ways. You wanna know how?"

"Oh, really, well, uh, how?" At this point I crawled under a table and died, but he didn't notice. He just kept talking to my dead body.

"I told him that now I could admire you like a Picasso. Have a great night!" At that, he waved and walked out.

Okay, chalk that one up in the "Top Five Most Awkward Conversations Ever" category.

The poor guy. Underneath all the weirdness and maybe-creepyness (creepiness?), he seems to be really sweet. He just doesn't get it. I do hope someday he finds some (unmarried) lady who likes being compared to a painting in which facial features are all in the wrong spots.

I just don't know what to do in situations like that. It's so awkward and weird and confusing. And coming from me, that says a lot, since I spend every day bringing awkward to a whole new level.