Where’s Emily Gilmore When You Need Her?

Lucius: “Here, please, for you.”

Me: “No thank you.”

Lucius: “No, please, take it.”

Me: “No, that’s alright. Thanks.”

Lucius: “Please, it’s a present. It’s free.”

Me: “Okay.”

Lucius: “Wait, it’s a little sticky, let me wrap it. Come, please.”

That’s the conversation I had with the nail product guy 3 quarters through the mall today. I’d already dodged the mineral makeup lady, the flat iron woman, and the cell phone man. I was on fire. Till Lucius, waving a little fuchsia stick in my direction, tricked me into thinking I could just take his sample and keep strolling.

I haven’t had very many memorable experiences with kiosk venders. At North Star Mall in San Antonio, a nail lady actually reached out, grabbed me by the hand, and started buffing without a word. This past Christmas, a lady selling fancy curling irons touched me on the shoulder, but gave up quickly with a, “Oh, I guess you don’t need anything to curl your hair.” That same day, some guy selling iPods asked me if I wanted one. I assured him that I already had one.

“You can always use another,” he said with a smile.

“No, not really,” I responded, still walking.

“Yes!” he pleaded. “One is never enough!”

“Maybe, but we’ve got 6.”

His mouth actually dropped.

Things with Lucius today weren’t that memorable either. He asked my name and if I was over 20. (”What? 26? Really? 26?!”) Then he ooed and awed over my fingernails, picked one to buff, and went at it. While he shined, he assured me that I looked beautiful, but he was certain I was busy. (”Too busy to take care of yourself, no?”) As he led up to the reveal, he asked me not to hug and kiss him, then reconsidered. (”Ah, no, actually, you can hug and kiss me all you want.”)

At the end of it all, my nail actually did look really nice, but I told him I didn’t have any money to spend today. I was just looking. He looked at me dubiously with a sad smile. How could this be? He’d used his best lines!

But I was telling the truth about the money. I didn’t spend a dime anywhere in that mall.

Even so, I felt a little odd leaving him standing there alone with his buffer. Like maybe I had lied or something. My cheeks were flushed, my head a little light. No, I wasn’t just worked up from all Lucius’ sweet talk. I didn’t fall for it. And I’m not 18 anymore, but it’s not like I’ve completely lost my ability to give and receive flirtation.

Besides, am I really already at the age where I’m supposed to be flattered by someone thinking I’m younger than I am? Yeah, I look more tired and a little momish, but, still, 26 isn’t that old, is it?

Or maybe I really don’t look 26, as I’ve now been asked twice if I’m over 18 at the gym, and when I’ve responded, “Yeah,” been asked exactly how old I am. I accidentally lied the first time and said “21.” But I quickly corrected myself.

21. Oh, brother.

Here’s 17 and a half. (I think.) I cut my hair shortly after I turned 18, but this is a pretty close representation.

Here’s 21. And, no, my hair’s not a different color. (I’ve actually never dyed it.) But, yes, my tassel is behind my ear.

And, you’ve seen 26. (Okay, okay. That’s really 25, but I haven’t exactly been the focus of the camera in the last year.)

Anyway, my reaction to Lucius had way more to do with the fact that some person I didn’t know was holding my hand and asking me questions while I thought about how I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted no matter how cool the product was or how suave he was. Maybe physical contact with a stranger ought not illicit such a response, but what can I say?

After I left, I started wondering where that trait — almost feeling guilty for turning the poor guy down — comes from. My mom won’t even break her pace or turn her head in the mall. If she says anything, it’s an eyes-ahead, no-nonsense, terse, “No.” My dad says, “No, thanks,” and because he’s my dad, they believe him every time.

But I almost always honestly answer the questions shouted at me from a kiosk. I’ve never hung up on a solicitor. I always make eye contact, even when I determine not to. Now, I’m no sucker. I’ve never actually bought anything from a kiosk, the phone, the television, or the door (except cookies), but I can’t just act like nothing’s happening or turn a cold shoulder or say no without a smile. I just can’t. And once I’m in, even though I know I’m leaving with empty hands, I can’t help thinking about all the humanity involved in the little exchange I’m having.

And that’s how I ended up with one shiny nail and some sort of sticky “present” that I’ve yet to identify. I’m pretty sure it’s just a piece of shiny wax, a flicker of pink to lure all us tired, hesitant moths to Lucius the Flame.

P.S. Yeah, this post has no point, but quit complaining. You weren’t supposed to get anything today.