Never trust a pretty cream Cadillac

I don't frequently go out expecting any attention, unless it's for my adorable child. Take today, for example, when I threw my hair into a braided ponytail (a la Cabbage Patch dolls), put on a sweatshirt, and packed Milo into the jogging stroller for a nice, chilly-weather walk. In my world, sweatshirt + bad hair = invisible girl, but I'm not always right.

Since I moved to Texas, I've mastered the "I'm friendly but not overly so" wave for my neighbors and any passing cars who don't try to run us down. I threw out a handful of them as we walked, and Milo and I talked about the pretty cream Cadillac as it drove by us.

And then that pretty cream Cadillac backed halfway down the street and scared the bajeebas out of me. Suddenly, right next to me, a man was leaning out his window saying, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Kate?" Yes, I answered in the form of a question, because I was so startled and still remembering that I'm not allowed to talk to strangers (I've been a rule-follower since day one, people.).

"Well, Kate, do you live around here?"

Ohhhhh, okay. He needed directions. I get it. "Yeah, why? Are you lost?"
"Are you single? Married?"

And then it hit me. This man had backed his car all the way down the street to ask a sweatshirted, ponytailed girl pushing a child in a stroller if she was interested... HUH?

"MARRIED."

"Awww, that's no good. Okay. Later."

At least he had the decency to drive off when he found out I was married, right? I'm telling you, though, that must be my lucky strip of road, because it's the same place I was "one hell of a woman," too. But tell me this, what is it about rumpled women walking with children that makes random men think, "That's it, right there. She's the one."