Hello Friends,

 

Familiarity breeds contempt.

 

Mine! 

 

I mean it’s not like I’ve got a problem if somebody I’ve just met calls me Emms instead of Emma-Kate, or I was raised in a family where we wore uniforms and referred to my dad as Sir.

 

But surely there have to be some boundaries right?

 

The reason I say this is because recently I’ve come into contact with a new breed of person that I like to refer to as the O.F.S, AKA: Over Familiar Stranger.

 

My problem with the Over Familiar Stranger is that their familiarity is so contagious that even the smallest conversation with one can cause a whip lash effect on your psyche. So, before you know it you’re behaving like one yourself.

 

I’ll give you an example.

 

The other night I met an American girlfriend of mine for a beer and being the anorexic Supermodel type that I am, I ordered some nachos.

 

Now the truth is the nachos where huge, the plate was bigger than my hair. It was basically a plethora of mince-meat, guacamole, cheese and sour cream that reached far and beyond the legal eating limit.

 

Now, (somewhat unusually) upon nearing the half way mark I decided that I ‘might’ be full and pushed my plate slightly to the side. As I continued talking I noticed a thirty-something man wearing a navy pinstriped suit hovering at my side.

 

I turned my attention to him and he said:

 

 “Excuse me, I’m a lawyer who grew up in Bathurst,” which was already more information than I required, but he didn’t stop there.  

 

“Anyways,” said the lawyer from Bathurst, “I noticed that you don’t seem to be finishing your nachos and I’m really hungry…………..”  

 

Wait for it….

 

“Can I have them?”

 

Now at this point I think my eyes kind of glazed over as I tried to process the fact that A COMPLETE STRANGER had just ASKED FOR MY half eaten DINNER.

 

I decided the quickest way out of this conundrum was to hand over the food, which I did with tears of laughter streaming down my face.

 

I then looked at my girlfriend and started talking about something completely ridiculous, in a bid for that to be that.

Only he wasn’t budging. Oh no, the O.F.S just stood there with my nachos in his hands until I was forced to acknowledge him.

 

“Excuse me,” he said putting an over familiar hand on my shoulder.

 

“But it’s not the nachos I’m really interested in, it’s you.”

 

Now there aren’t many men that have rendered me speechless in my life, so in many ways his technique was effective.

 

There was so much I wanted to say like:

 

“Whatever happened to buying someone a drink?”

 

“Do you really think asking for my half eaten dinner shows interest?”

Or, “give me back my nachos you freak...” But to put it bluntly, I literally couldn’t talk.

 

By this time my girlfriend was literally lying on the floor convulsing, so I scooped her up and we spilled into the night air and began walking home, when we were intercepted by a woman selling The Big Issue.

 

“Want to buy an issue?” she said.

 

“I’ve had enough issues,” I replied still laughing, “So, I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea that I invest in one of yours.”

 

She looked disturbed and in retrospect quite rightly so as she probably thought:

 

I’m selling a bloody paper and some red-haired lunatic is talking to me about her issues!

I guess when it comes to the O.F.S syndrome it takes one to know one - let’s just hope I don’t get hungry and find myself attracted to a stranger who is eating K.F.C.

Email me at
editor@tootstar.com