And I write books with romance?

I have an anecdote to start my post with. I was getting off the subway, my purpose for this trip to meet my husband after he was done work. I’m slow, mostly due to my carrying a tiny human, and my doctors orders to slow the eff down because of earlier complications. As I’m getting to the steps a guy calls out. I see him coming towards me so I’m obviously the steps “madame” he’s calling to. He has something in his hand and my first thought is crap, what did I drop? He then hand me a rose, tells me to have a good day, and takes off-presumably to the next unsuspecting woman as he had a couple more in his hand.

My first thought is wow, that’s kinda creepy. Then I realized that most women, married or not, might have thought this a wonderfully sweet gesture. If I distance much self from the act, look at it as if I was another person, I may have found it amazingly romantic. A flash of romantic comedy runs across my mind and I see a girl maybe trying to find him again. Maybe the gets his contact anyway. Instead, the reality is my best friend wonders why I didn’t hold on to the red bud. I know, I’m a broken woman.

Or am I?

Women who read this, what would you have done?