I’m on the 9 at the same time I often am, sitting in the same seat I usually sit in, and a lassie gets on at the same stop she often does, and sits opposite me where she always tends to sit down.
And I look across because I notice that she’s had her hair cut and coloured. She clocks me looking, and pulls that face at me—you know, The Growl (a look that might well be uniquely Scottish?)—as if to say ‘Whit-the-fuck-ye-starin-et, pal??’ (which, if you’re not local, roughly translates to ‘May I help you, kind sir?’).
And I’m blushing now, as now she’s pulled an earbud out, blasting everyone around us with LOUD SCREECHING NOISES (trendy music, I’m guessing), and she clearly expects I was about to say something to her…
So I do.
I say “Em—I just noticed your hair—it’s… well, it looks great!” And I smile a bit to show the compliment’s sincere.
She doubles up The Growl, throwing in some extra eyebrow and chin.
Her reply?
“Fuck off, ya pervert.”
Charming.
I’ll be leaving 10 minutes earlier in future to spare the affront. :-/
Chivalry: dead.