The Girl Who Assumed

I don’t know if girls think I’m cute or not. I don’t know if guys think I’m cute or not. I’m not gay, so I don’t really care if guys think I’m cute or not; I mean cool, whatever, I’ll take the compliment, but I don’t care to sleep with you.

I have never been the one to get hit on. Before I met my fiancé I came to this conclusion while talking to women online: it’s half and half, some girls think I’m ulgy and others think I’m really cute.

Then you got the wheelchair issue to worry about. And very often, from what I can tell, girls who find me attractive are quick to slam on the brakes when they find out that I can’t get into a physical fight or do yard work.

So it’s not often that a girl hits on me. And more often than not if they actually get to know me and fall in love with my personality the vast majority of them walk over into the friend zone.

Now a days though, that doesn’t matter. I’m engaged to a wonderful women, someone who I can’t really complain about.

However being hit on, being told I’m that I’m cute is a good feeling. But one day a good thing went too far and that is what I’m going to tell you about if you care to read further.

I got a phone call that morning, a phone call from the company that was selling my my new wheelchair, “Yes Mr. Last Name, your wheelchair is ready for pickup.”

That morning before Shannon went to work she gave me a small task: go to the store and put this in the mail.

Coming from Washington State where a post office is common place, having one in the entire city of Lincoln is weird to me. There might be more than one, but I’m only going off of secondhand information.

Our local grocery store has a mailing service too.

So being that I was in that area of town to pick up my new wheelchair. I went to the grocery store that I used to live next to, mainly because I knew that area of town, but I was also in the same area too.

There I am, standing in the parking lot directly behind my car with the trunk open. “Do you need any help?” That question is always met with a, “No, but thank you.” Speaking of that, more Nebraskans have asked me that than Washingtonian’s. 

Look people, I know you’re trying to be nice, I get it…but I have a system down, something that I’m so used to doing that if I change it up it will only make it harder. And my fiancé understands this, if we go shopping afterwards she will put food in the car and not even help me, because she knows that I don’t want it, and if I did I’d ask. But those people, the ones who don’t know any better, and there are alot of them, will look at her as if she’s the asshole for not helping a physically disabled man take out/put in his wheelchair.

I finally get my wheelchair assembled and sit down just to shut my trunk and roll into the store around one o’clock in the afternoon. My goal other than sending a package in the mail was to buy a Monster energy drink that I can drink when I get home to sit in front of my TV and play Fallout 4.

I roll on over to customer service and I’m sitting there, waiting in line watching a guy buy a lottery ticket, a girl put some mail in dropoff, another guy buy a pack of cigarettes, and a bunch of workers walk past me as they talk to one another and help bag groceries.

“That is a nice wheelchair.” Being caught off guard I found myself looking up at this girl who appeared to be in her early 30’s wearing green basketball shorts and a black tank top. The only thing I could think of to say was, “Thank you.”

I’m more social than I used to be, so I continue by saying, “it’s new.” I’m still in loss for words just based on the fact that this conversation came out of nowhere and that is not what I expect to be an opening line.

She was a good looking brunette. Not someone I had my jaw drop to the floor for, just okay I guess. Not too tall, not too fat, just kinda…avarage for a girl who wasen’t wearing makeup and looked like she got just got done running around the neighborhood.

Being in a moment of silence she said something that says one of two things: she either thinks I’m super cute and had a, “ughhhhhh what” moment or she has no tact.

“Do you need help taking a bath, or getting dressed, or eating food?” Being a man, one who thinks about sex a lot, I imagined me in a bathtub with her hands on my hard cock.

But that thoght only lasted a half second, I was more offended than anything as i said, “No…I…I can…do…all that stuff without help.”

Then she goes into trying to tell me I’m a man because I’m self sufficient and she can relate to being in a wheelchair because she broke her back playing sports. “Sorry lady, but no you can’t, no matter how much you think you can; being in a wheelchair for 30 days with the ability to walk again is not the same as not being able to walk and spending 15 years in a wheelchair with the ability of not walking.” That’s one of the thoughts I was having at the time and as much as I wanted to say it, I didn’t want to be an asshole.

She eventually stopped talking, I think she realized that she fucked up.

And to be totally honest I kept thinking to myself, “Yea sure lady, if I was single, you could totally rub my dick.”

But like I said,  I love my fiancé, you offended me more than you intended to, and you’re not her.

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