Is your dad a baker? 'Cuz you've got some nice buns.

I have done like three versions of this post, trying to sound the least like a self-absorbed be-otch as possible, and this is my best attempt to share this humorous aspect of life, so bear with me.

I get hit on a lot. Like not daily a lot. But frequently enough where I have a handful of stories. Public transportation is mostly to blame for this, because I am out and about more often, and I have a lot of time to replay interactions with people in my head while taking the hour commute.

Examples:

I walked onto a train one day, and before I could even sit down, someone asked me, "How are you doing?" Politely, I replied, "I'm doing good."
His reply: "You're looking good."
He then proceeded to pepper me with questions from Ogden to Clearfield, including what I was studying in school. When I told him that I was earning my master's he said he just finished his criminology degree.
 "Really?" I asked, feigning interest.
"No," he replied, "I've been in prison the last two years."

I have been honked at, and then waved at while walking to my trax stop.  I have also been the victim of the all-too-familiar wave-by -- where the guy in the car next to you gets your attention just to try an wave at you. This happens a lot when I drive Kelly's Subaru, and I have no idea why -- are men attracted to large piles of junk?

I have been told that I had beautiful eyes and would look great on camera -- would I be interested in being in this man's YouTube video, he asks, while we are standing in the lobby of a police station?

I was told several weeks ago at a karaoke bar about some creepy observation that my hips looked perfect while I was dancing in the skirt I was wearing. Weird shit.

Maybe this is not your definition of being "hit on," because I don't often get asked out or anything, mostly due to the rock on my left hand, I presume. I do a lot of left hand-waving or drop a lot of "my husband" whenever I feel like a stranger dude is prolonging a conversation and I can't get out.

But, I always wonder, why me? I don't think I am unattractive, but I'm not sure there is anything that great about me that makes guys talk to me over that other chick sitting on the same train as me?

I've come up with a theory: On a scale from zero to smoking hot, I am just right there in the middle. I'm not hideous, but I'm not so hot that I am considered untouchable. Mediocre hotness, you could say. The fact that it is so mediocre, it makes me approachable.

 At least, that's my best guess. Because, to be honest with you, I have no idea why else this could be.  I put relatively little time to how I look, besides making sure I match and that I don't look like a hot mess. I imagine this kind of weird stuff just happens to everyone, right?