Billie put her arm around me and I reciprocated, but as she moved away my arm didn't move as fast as her. I looked down to see my hand on her butt. My first thought was, "Uh, oh..."
Billie is a very pretty girl who works as a secretary in one of the buildings I visit during the course of my day. She isn't in a school, but she teaches software programs to school secretaries. Besides being attractive she likes to flirt, and I'm not one to ever turn down an opportunity for that. So sometimes when I go into her building she spots me and gives me a big hug or like this last time, what I call an "armaround." (Hmmm. Sounds like something Larry David would say.)
This is where my paranoia came in: Because I'm in contact with women constantly during the day, because I like to flirt, because I will touch if touched, I always have "sexual harassment" in the back of my mind. Because I'm paranoid about it I don't touch unless touched first, I don't say anything that could be misconstrued by the listener. Let me correct that. I like to think I don't say anything to be misconstrued, but I don't doubt that sometimes I say things that are misunderstood. I'm sure there are days when I leave a building and a woman I've been talking to turns to her workmate and says, "Did you hear what he just said to me?!"
It's as sure as the sun coming up in the morning that something someone says will be misinterpreted by another person. Our brains are just built that way. A major flaw in our design.
But sexual harassment is scary. For many years the school district had a sexual harassment policy but no one knew what it was. It was basically someone pointing their finger at something and saying, "That's sexual harassment." That never works when lawyers get involved so the District hired themselves a lawyer and they came up with a written policy.
Still, the policy has major problems. One of them is that it can still be a subjective judgment on the part of the harassee as to whether she is being really harassed, or even an honest one-time mistake, a slip of the tongue by the so-called harasser.
The other part that's really bad is that a third party can watch a verbal exchange between two people, and even if those people are mutually flirting, or making comments that neither finds offensive, the third party can make a complaint, claiming they were harassed because of the actions of others.
Anyway, touching is a big no-no, obviously. So when I saw my hand on Billie's butt I saw doom descending on me. I worried about it over the period of a day.
The next morning I went into Billie's building again and saw her sitting with another lady. Billie greeted me in her usual friendly manner and inside I breathed a big sigh of relief. Well, she seemed to be fine with me, and if she even noticed my hand on her butt she knows I didn't do it on purpose (or, as the Dirty Ol' Man in me sometimes thinks, maybe she did know and liked it, heh heh heh).
After the greeting she went back to talking with her lady friend, who had just finished removing her shoes. As I walked by I saw Billie examining the lady's toes. I could see with a quick glance they had been pedicured, sporting French tips and appliques on the nails. The lady looked up and saw me looking.
When I came out of the inner office and said goodbye to the ladies (who both had their shoes on by then), Billie called out to me, sarcastically, "What are you doin', lookin' at people's feet! Have you got a foot fetish or somethin'?" She was laughing in a friendly way but she caught me by surprise. The only thing that came to mind was, "Oh, whatta you know!" (not a real snappy rejoinder) and I went out the door.
I seethed a little bit. Hey, they were in a public place, looking at those fancy toenails. I'm not supposed to look?
The truth is I do have a thing about feet, and shoes too. I can defend it by saying if women go to a lot of trouble to make their feet look good, pay good money, wear great shoes, sandals, heels, pumps, whatever, then they deserve to get an admiring look. I'm not going to drop to the ground and start licking their toes, but I will look and if they are pretty I'm definitely going to enjoy.
So twice in two days Billie got my paranoia working, by my hand on her ass and by pegging me as a footguy. I wonder if she thought of me as a pervert like this guy: I'd call him a sole man!
This is not me. I wish I looked this good.
A few months ago in a thrift store I found this sexy magazine cover for nail professionals, which made me wonder if I should make a career change.
Naw. The chemicals in that business would wipe me out. Maybe when I retire from the driving biz I'll apply to be a salesman in the Women's Shoe Department at Nordstrom's.
Ciao for now! El Postino