Everyone Loves a Boston Girl

Today I was invited to Israel by a native of the country who seemed shocked and impressed that I had ever heard of the place. Maybe he supposes Americans are even more ignorant than once thought. He sat beside me while I was sitting on a bench in Coolidge Corner reading a book and just started talking. It was fine; I love meeting new people/talking to people, even if it is blatantly interrupting my concentration. But there’s something about a random guy sitting next to me, asking me where I live, telling me I should go to Israel to visit him, and telling me how beautiful I look that’s a little unnerving.

Finally I think he got the point that I was trying to read and said he would go. “But will I see you again?” he asked. “Umm possibly, I’m around CC a lot” I replied. “Well, how about I call you?” Ugh. That’s where the ever useful imaginary boyfriend comes in handy. “Yeah…I have a boyfriend; not sure how he would feel about that.” He finally shook my hand (ew…Purell please) and left. Only to walk by half an hour later to tell me “how amazing I look” (ew, ew, ew), shake my hand again (ewwww), and leave for good…I hope.

I’m trying to break out of the “rude Bostonian” mode and be nicer to people, but oftentimes I think I understand why Bostonians are known for being rude. Whenever I’m nice, I get put in the awkwardest of situations. Sometimes it’s easier just to mind your own business and keep to yourself. I wish it wasn’t this way. But in most cases, you can’t immediately distinguish the weirdos from the non-weirdos. And that’s when you thank God for imaginary boyfriends.