Hit On and Run

  

via thomasmarzano.wordpress.com

I got hit on last night.

It was 11:30 pm.

My day had been emotionally taxing... a two-bath-er (if you know what I mean).  My husband is cycling, and I'm in the thick of working daily on the 12 steps which, in essence, means the Lord has a jackhammer on the thick candy coating I've been sporting for most of my life.  The REAL me is trying to get out.  It's hard.
Recovery is hard.

And at 11:30 pm after a long talk with my husband and a long day with myself, I just wanted a brownie.  Of course I was out of sugar.  So of course I had to put my tennis shoes on to go out and buy a brownie instead of make some.
But get out of my PJ's?  Take down my messy pony tail?  Put on make-up?
Psh.

So I trekked to the truck stop across town (which also happens to be the nearest gas station, but anyway) and I went inside and sort of panicked because they were out of Little Debbie brownies.

What's a girl to do?  I sighed... and picked up some Nutty Bars for my husband, a package of Swiss Rolls for me (an agreeable alternative) and then saw that the pork rinds were buy one get one and grabbed two of those.
My husband likes them.
I've eaten frog legs, rocky mountain oysters, and cow tongue, but you can't pay me to eat pork rinds.  *shudder*

And then I stood in the front of the candy bars, like any chocoholic would after an emotionally stressful two-bath-er day, and I stared blankly at them.
Someone approached me from the right, and asked, "Junk food run?" in such a familiar tone that I figured it was someone I knew (which is pretty much everyone in a small town).
I looked up and quickly realized: I had no idea who he was.
And I suddenly remembered: everyone I knew was in bed.  It was 11:30 for crying out loud... in a small, Mormon community.
I nodded like an idiot.  And that's when it happened... he walked behind me close enough to SMELL my frizzy hair (the humidity from the bath water never fails to frizz me), lowered his tone and said
"How you doin' tonight..."
And I ran.
Flight.
Flight.
FLIGHT!

It's significant to me.  It is.  For several reasons I'm going to share with you and no one else.
1) I have a lust addiction of my own -one which I haven't really come out with or dealt with because I didn't realize the extent of it until recently.
2) In the past when I've been hit on, it has consumed my thoughts.  I'd think about it for weeks afterward.  I liked it, but I hated that I liked it.
3) Yesterday, I hated it.  I was 100% freaked out by it.  I genuinely hated it.
4) I haven't thought much about it since it happened.
5) I see this as progress in my own lust addiction.
6) I underestimated the power of two bags of Pork Rinds.
7) My pajamas give off a prostitute vibe.  Stupid flannel.
8) When my gut tells me not to go to a truck stop alone at 11:30 at night, I will listen.  No matter how bad I want a brownie.
9) Restraining my husband's cycling anger when his wife has been mistook for unmarried and easy... isn't easy. 
10) Recovery is hard.  Did I say that already?