Gettin' Chatted Up in AC

Not sure what's in the water here in Atlantic City, but it's a bit strange.

I've been here for two days and I've had three offers.

OK, offers is a bit strong. But the former fat girl in me laughs at this. Honest to goodness, never in my adult life was I hit on my anyone. Ever. And by hit on I mean singled out. Never once.

So when this strange phenomenon happens to me, as a 45-year-old, Midwestern mom with sagging skin, parenthesis wrinkles and stubby fingernails, it cracks me right up ... and sort of secretly delights me.

Offer 1: I'm getting on an elevator as a middle-aged man is getting off the same car. We sort of pass each other in the doorway. And then he backs up, as the doors begin to close, forcing them to open again. He looks at me and mumbles something as his phone starts to beep. I don't understand what he said, but think he's asking me if the beep is coming from me/my phone/the elevator. I say, "I think that's your phone." He looks at me again and says, "Yeah. It is. Is your husband here?" I pause, "No." He follows with, "Would you like to have lunch later?" I say, thanks, but no and the door thankfully closes. I assume he's drunk, in spite of it being 10 a.m. I also wonder if he just asks every woman he sees and if so, what the odds are that someone says, "Sure!"

Offer 2: I'm hawking my company's wares, standing behind a table, spewing what little I know about the equipment in front of me. I make the mistake of bending over at the waist to write an order on said table. Mind you, I'm wearing a company-issued, logoed, long-sleeve Vneck cardigan with a tank top underneath, the epitome of Trade Show Chic and not exactly Fredrick's of Hollywood style. All of a sudden, there's a bright light on my chest and complimentary chatter from some East Coast home inspector. I should be insulted. And on the one hand I am. It's disrespectful and inappropriate at best and much worse than that in hindsight. In my head, however, I can't help but think, "My boobs used to be a lot bigger and no one ever paid any attention."

Offer 3: I have two hours downtime. I hustle off the show floor to my room, perform a quick change into these crazy zebra-ish print workout crops and a black workout tank. I toss on a black zip-up sweatshirt and hurry to the fitness center ... which, in the land of mega casinos, is approximately 47 miles away. The hike requires escalators, elevators, a fake brick walkway, marble floors, a mall with a light blue ceiling painted with realistic clouds. As I'm doing my limping best to scoot along, this dude is walking toward me. I get to where I'm ready to pass by him and he stops. "Hey," he says. "Hi. Where are you going?" And he's seriously zeroed in. "Good morning," I can't help but say (damn that Midwestern gene!) as I zip past. He's still talking, but I keep moving.

I hope this doesn't sound conceited or odd. I suspect "pretty girls" get this kind interaction all the time and never think twice about it. Hell, for all I know most people in general get this kind of interaction because they are willing to look at strangers as they pass on the sidewalk and say "Hello."

And maybe that's the most important thing that's changed about me ... I'm more willing to participate in the world around me. Even if it can be a bit creepy sometimes.