Back in the days before the Internet, I used to hang around at a modelling club. People building scale models would meet, bring their builds, share tools, give and receive feedback, and the like. People who take the hobby TOO seriously can be very particular about the exact shade and hue of camouflage, resorting to complex quasi-alchemical mixtures for obtaining the “right” colour.

During one of those meets, I heard this exchange.

Modeller #1: “What a nice build. Is it in a desert scheme?”

Modeller #2: *Taken aback* “Of course it’s not; it’s in the green and brown scheme, as you can see.”

Modeller #1: “Eh, I can’t really see that. I’m colourblind.”

Modeller #2: “You’re pulling my leg.”

Modeller #1: “Why would I?”

Modeller #2: “But… But… But… It’s impossible. How can you be sure you’re not painting your tanks fuchsia?”

Modeller #1: “Well, I have this thing to help me.”

[Modeller #2] leans forward as if to be the only one receiving a secret

Modeller #2: “You do, eh? What is it, eh?”

Modeller #1: “I read the number on the bloody pot, you dolt!“

I am sitting with some friends having a drink at a nightclub. We are celebrating a birthday so it is a bit more upscale than I am used to. All of a sudden, a young woman my age comes up and sits down beside me.

Woman: “Oh, my God, that blouse is amazing!”

I am a bit taken aback by her being so forward, but being a bisexual woman myself, I think maybe she was being brave and trying to flirt or something, so I decide to give the conversation a shot. I smile at her.

Me: “Thank you.”

Woman: “Wow, can I feel it?”

She starts touching it before I even have time to reply, and at first, I am wondering if I should tell her off, but then I notice she is actually just feeling the blouse, seeing how the fabric feels, and so on. It is very strange to me since it is just a cheap blouse I bought a week ago in a very popular (and cheap) chain of clothing stores.

Me: “Um, I guess.”

Woman: “Where did you buy it?”

Me: “In [Chain].”

Woman: “How much did it cost?”

Me: “I don’t really remember, maybe like thirty euro.”

Woman: “Do they still have it?”

This whole time, she is still checking my blouse’s features.

Me: “I don’t know, but I just bought it a few days ago so I’m sure they still do. You can probably buy one.”

Woman: “Yeah, but what if they don’t have it?”

Me: “I’m sure they do.”

Woman: “What size is this one?”

Without even waiting for a reply, she goes up to the back of my neck to check the size tag.

Me: “It is size thirty-four.”

She continues looking, despite my reply, until she finds the size tag.

Woman: “Oh, no. It is size thirty-four; I’m a thirty-six.”

Me: “I am sure they have it in thirty-six, as well.”

She sighs and looks at the blouse a bit more, feeling the fabric. By this time, I have the feeling I should have told her off by now, but for some reason, I don’t.

Woman: “I’ll buy it for 100 euro.”

Me: “What? You’ll buy it?”

Woman: “Yeah, here, now. I don’t have money on me but I can go take some out.”

Me: “But I am wearing it.”

Woman: “So?”

Me: “I only have a bra under this.”

Woman: “Oh, but we can go to the toilet, you can have my sweater, and I’ll give you 100 euro.”

I am feeling very bad about the whole situation, as I feel like nothing more than a hanger in a store.

Me: “No.”

Woman: “Please!”

Me: “No.”

She leaves with a sour face. A friend comes over.

Friend: “What was that about?”

I explain what happened and she is shocked.

Friend: “You should’ve sold it.”