On the Prowl

My license plate is trying to pick up men.

Seriously. I swear. It really happened. I did nothing whatsoever to provoke attention, unless carrying extra weight, wearing clothes a sick child has wiped her nose on, and desperately needing a shower suddenly qualifies a woman for supermodel status.

I didn't think so.

There I was in the grocery store parking lot, hatchback open, loaded cart of groceries ready to be loaded, Arielle in my arms as I prepared to put her in her car seat, when this 60ish guy in an SUV pulled up and said, "So, you're single, huh?"

To which I responded, wittily, "Huh?"

"Your license plate. Single mom to one, right?"

I looked at the license plate. Sure enough, that's what it said. Wow. How weird.

"I never noticed," I told him.

"Oh. I thought it was one of those license plates that mean something, you know how people do that?"

"Yeah, but this one isn't." I waved my left hand at him. "I'm married."

"Hi!" Arielle waved to him. "We bought apple juice!"

"Hi!" He waved back to Arielle, then went back to his conversation with me. "Well, I thought you were single."

"Nope!" I started moving toward the front of the car, ready to put Arielle in her car seat.

"Oh. Okay." He pulled his head back in his car window and pulled away.

"Bye-bye!" Arielle vigorously waved her arm in the air. "Bye-bye!"

The funniest part is that's the car the husband drives to work every day. He wasn't happy to realize what the license plate can be interpreted to mean.