Scheming chitchat

WHY DO MEN FEEL THEY CAN ASK A WOMAN OUT JUST BECAUSE SHE GIVES THEM THE TIME OF DAY?

I lay in the dentist's chair, craning my neck and trying to see the light board behind me. One by one the dental hygienists padded in, stared at the ghostly images of my teeth, murmured and walked out again. Finally, the dentist himself arrived, swathed head to toe in protective surgical garb, grabbed the X-rays and sat down on the stool.

I looked at him fearfully. "What is it? Do I have cancer?"

"You have very short roots," he informed me. "Some of the shortest we've ever seen."

"Is that all?" I breathed a sigh of relief. "You guys tell me every single time I come in."

"You could have bone loss," he said severely. "Do you grind your teeth?"

"Uh, only when I'm annoyed." I looked up at him. "Oh, and when I'm biking. Going up a hill. And sometimes when I'm running. Maybe sleeping too."

"Oh, you're a cyclist?" His eyes brightened and he took off his mask.

"Well, that would be putting it a little strongly --"

"So am I! Where do you go? What kind of bike do you have?"

"Well, I ..." And off we went on a 20-minute discussion of road bikes, trails and chain rings. Short roots, bone loss and grinding molars were all but forgotten.

"So if you ever want to go training sometime," he said finally, as I was paying my bill at the front desk.

"Sure," I said, a little uncertainly. I walked out of the office, feeling like I'd just sat through a foreign movie and completely misunderstood the ending.

"Did my dentist just ask me out?" I asked Harriet in our nightly phone session. "Or was that just a friendly innocent offer? Am I being egotistical?"

"That was fishing," said Harriet authoritatively. "He doesn't feel really strongly about it. He threw out a line to see if he got a bottom feeder or an old shoe or maybe nothing at all."

"Oh, well." Somewhere in there was a compliment, I was sure, but I didn't feel very flattered.

"This seems to be an epidemic lately," she continued. "The other day, I was standing in the post office and this guy I see around starts chatting with me. Then he says, 'So, do you want to go have a drink?' And all of a sudden I realize that it's not a neighborly chat to him -- it's a segue to a date."

"Well, I don't blame you for feeling trepidatious," I said. "Dating and the U.S. Postal Service don't exactly make a tantalizing combination. But, is there something wrong with him asking?"

"Not really," she said. "Except that nine times out of 10, the strangers you meet who ask you out are nobody you would ever consider going out with. I mean, a friendly chat is fine, but why can't they just leave at that? Why is it that men feel compelled to take it one step further every time they meet a woman with a common interest?"

N E X T+P A G E +| Only the attractive need apply