Fuddland

“Excuse me,” said the middle-aged woman who approached me as I stared at the selection of beans in my local supermarket. “Sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering: are you spying on me?”
“Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” I said, as I processed this utterly unexpected question. “No.”
“It’s just because I saw you looking, earlier,” — I’ve never seen you before in my life, I thought, I was probably trying to see what was down the aisle that you happened to be in — “and I’m sure I’ve seen you in other places as well.”
“No, I’ve actually just moved back to London recently.”
“Okay. I think someone is trying to keep track of where I go, you see, so I thought you might be spying on me. But you’re definitely not?”
“No, I’m really not spying on you.”

Which is, of course, exactly what I’d say if I was spying on her.

#1

Kav | 2005 / 09 / 06 – 16:20

David, I think it’s time that you winched in your ‘If you are crazy come and talk to me’ sign.

#2

David | 2005 / 09 / 06 – 16:22

Re #1: Don’t be silly. How on earth would I meet girls then?

#3

Ade | 2005 / 09 / 06 – 16:45

So, you definitely weren’t looking at her then…?

#4

clair | 2005 / 09 / 06 – 16:57

Maybe she’s spying on you? and thought that you had seen through her, so needed to throw you off the scent.

[Edited by commenter — 17:00]

#5

David | 2005 / 09 / 06 – 16:57

Re #3: No, I’m afraid I was much more interested in the beans.

#6

David | 2005 / 09 / 06 – 16:58

Re #4: Gah, triple bluff! Where is she? Now I will start spying on her.

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