Further Adventures In Strange Guys Hitting On Me

Tomorrow is my birthday. Last year on my birthday, this happened:

So it's my birthday and I got all dolled up and took myself to see a show. Coming home on the Q train, there's this drunk and/or insane guy who looks like a cross between an albino and someone with that disease where they can't grow any hair, like eyebrows or anything. He starts shouting, "Miss! Hey, miss!"

Please don't let him be talking to me, please don't let him be talking to me...

"Hey, miss! White girl!"

Damn it, he's talking to me.

I'm wearing open-toe heels, and when I make the mistake of shifting a fraction of an inch in his direction when the train hits a bump, he says, loud enough for the rest of the car to enjoy, "Those are some sexy shoes. Can I kiss your toes, baby?"

I'm trying to just ignore him, but he keeps repeating himself, and women all around me are trying not to laugh and murmuring, "Oh, you poor thing," so finally I shout, "Sorry, I've got someone." Even though I don't, and I'm actually kind of bummed about that. And why do I always feel the need to be polite to these lunatics?

"Ok, ok, I respect that," he says. "But I'm real good. I'm real good! I bet I could do it better for you than him!"

"Probably not," I tell him. "He has a foot fetish." [Based on actual events.]

Everyone around me bursts out laughing. My admirer is only momentarily thrown for a loop, but eventually bounces right back and keeps yelling shit and trying to get my attention until he finally gets off the train 2 stops later.

Once the doors close and he's gone, the other passengers all start looking around and shaking their heads and laughing under their breath. The girl in the seat next to me leans over and says, "That was good. How does that not creep you out?"

Lady, I want to tell her, I'm used to it.