Please. Do Not Hit on Me at the Bus Stop.

I woke up this morning with bad hair. I should have just gone back to sleep.

I was struggling with my third attempt at a hairstyle (a messy top-of-the-head bun that made me look like a pineapple) when Quint grabbed my elbow and pulled me out the door -- we were running late.

You see, we're down to one car right now. The other one got totaled in the flood a few weeks ago. (Don't even get me started...a completely flat city with no drainage system -- good one, team Houston!) Since Quint works farther away, he drives me the mile and a half to the bus stop on his way to work and then I take the bus.

Well, I missed my bus and then ended up getting on the wrong bus, realizing this only after riding for half an hour (I was reading my book). I had to get off, take a bus in the opposite direction to backtrack nearly to where I'd started, and then wait for the bus I should have taken in the first place.

A young guy in a track suit had gotten off the second bus and was waiting at the third stop with me. "Hello, how are you?" he asked. "Good, thanks," I replied, as I usually do unless the greeting is accompanied by inapproriate staring. But understand this: after my quick response -- which I feel is only polite -- I keep it moving.

This fellow had other ideas. "Where are you from?" he asked. Still no objectionable behavior that could excuse me from the conversation (except the annoying use of "where are you from?" as some kind of euphemism for an inquiry into my ethnicity). "New York," I replied and opened my book.

He told me his name and then stuck his hand out for a handshake. I looked up from my book. There it was, hand in mid-air in front of me. Can you leave someone hanging like that? Of course you can -- but since leaving New York I've lost some of my hardness. Here I was, alone at a bus stop with this guy, and the awkwardness of leaving him hanging seemed to outweigh the cost of shaking his hand. So I shook it -- meekly, without offering my name -- and then returned to my book. (I scolded myself for having gone too far down this slippery slope -- but where was I supposed to have stopped?)

"What's your name?" he asked. I responded with, "Do you know what time the bus comes?" He didn't. I alternated my gaze impatiently between my book and my watch.

After a minute, he said,"It was nice meeting you." Success! He's going to leave me alone! "You too," I said, thinking I'd nailed the lid on the conversation. But no.

"I'd like to get to know you better -- can I have your number and call you sometime?" Ok, I think we women all know where this conversation is going, but let me break it down for the fellas.

1. When I say, "No, you can't have my phone number...my boyfriend wouldn't be happy about that," I'm giving you the easy out. Go on your way, now, quietly, unscathed. It's not that there's something wrong with you, it's just that this woman is spoken for. No feelings hurt.

2. No, I do not want to take your number. Yeah, I know, it's hard to believe. I mean, I didn't want to give you my number, but I can understand why you'd think I'd want to take your number. (Seriously, guys -- someone explain to me the logic behind this one. Has this tactic ever resulted in a phone call from a girl? Do you just try to get the digits to save face with yourself? I wouldn't think so because I already gave you the easy out.)

3. No, I still don't want to take your number. I told you, I have a man. (And trust: Quint is a big dude and he will mess you up.)

4. No, I do not want to be your friend, Musiq Soulchild. It's not that I'm not open to making new friends. It's that I try not to make them at bus stops with strangers who have been hitting on me.

5. No, I still don't want to take your number.

Finally, after having to resort to completely ignoring this guy, which is what I should have done in the first place (look what I get for trying to show some civility), Track Suit decided to leave me alone. Yeah, he wasn't even waiting for my bus in the first place -- he crossed the street and stood at the stop to catch a bus in the opposite direction.

I buried myself in my book for a few minutes and then looked up, just to see if he was gone yet. I caught his eye. He started crossing the street back towards me. I can not deal with this crap first thing in the morning.

And just then...I was saved by the bus! Never was I so happy to board a city bus.

"Hello, how are you?" the driver greeted me with a friendly smile. "Good, thanks," I mumbled quietly as I scurried to my seat.