You know you're a geek when the smart-arse salsa vendor who flirts with you at the farmer's market gets a napkin with the name of a novel, rather than your number, on it.
Not sexy. Even despite the fruitsicle, hot jalapeno relish, and one more game of Guess Her Nationality. Sexier, perhaps, was the look of bemusement I exchanged with his small female coworker who had no doubt witnessed the putting of the same moves on other vegetable-shopping Eugene chicks several times today.
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