Poor man, I do him an injustice. He didn't actually say that, the man in the green cap and tweed jacket standing behind me in the queue at the Barbican Branch of Waitrose. What he said was "I'm sure you're not!" He was referring to my David and Goliath red singlet which reads "DRAMA QUEEN" in white capital letters on the front.
- Thank you. It's meant to be a joke, I'm an actress. (Ooh how I love saying that!)
- I'm sure you're not a drama queen at all...I'm an organic vegetable farmer!
- And you shop at Waitrose?
- Yes, but not for vegetables. At my local Waitrose they have specials on Wednesday afternoons, and you can pick up a good fat duck!
- That's nice.
- But today, I'm just picking up a bit of shoe polish, I've got a wedding to go to later on...
Then it was my turn to pay and so I said goodbye and wished him a great time at the wedding. Afterwards I thought: I'm not sure what it was all about! Was he just been friendly? Was he being harmlessly flirtatious? Did my top amuse him? What was he doing staring at my chest in the first place?
Why look for a nefarious reason? I think he was a friendly organic vegetable farmer who was amused by the message on my top and was warm and sociable enough to let me know. I responded, and encouraged our little harmless exchange. That's probably how things are done out in the countryside (beyond the M25 - the big circular motorway around London). He was probably grateful to find a chatty friendly towny. He'd probably be aghast and saddened to hear that it prompted this slight attack of paranoia.
I mean, a vegetable's a vegetable, right? And a friendly spontaneous exchange between strangers in a queue at the supermarket (especially Waitrose which is rather posh...) is just that, a friendly exchange. Right? Right...