I was at a Redondo Beach crab house, which is a seafood mecca for Koreans. After a feeding frenzy of oysters, sashimi, spicy fish soup, and enough crabs to make a slutty giant itchy - there was a fucking reef inside my stomach.
The restaurant had extra sinks across from the bathrooms, so I was thoroughly washing my hands to get the sea skank off of my fingers. That's when I suddenly noticed the lady standing right next to me, staring and smiling. When I say "lady," I mean a short Korean woman in her mid-fifties wearing a bright flowery shirt and baggy khaki shorts with gold wire-rimmed glasses. Your standard office issue ahjumma.
"Yes," I replied. "It takes a lot of soap to get rid of the smell."
"You're very tall," she said. "And you're very handsome."
"Uh, thank you," I replied.
Her face wasn't red and she wasn't teetering, but I was certain this lady was drunk. Not just because she found me attractive (Oh why couldn't she have been several decades younger, and Katie Holmes?). Old Korean people will often say flattering things to young folk, probably as a motivational tool to encourage them to breed and propagate the master race. But then again old Korean people will just as often say unflattering things to young folk, like "You're not married yet? You a homo or something?" or "What the hell is wrong with your face?"
Back to the present ahjumma situation: What didn't feel right about it was that she was right up against me. Had any of her lady boobs even lightly brushed against my arm, I would've shuddered so violently I might've bitten my tongue off.
"Look at this tall, handsome boy standing here washing his hands so diligently," she said to herself out loud.
By now I was feeling dirty in a way handsoap can't fix. I don't know why: What she'd said wasn't particularly pervish, but her vibes and proximity were - and for Chrissakes, she was somebody's mom, probably one of yours. A mom who got off on watching guys rinsing crab juice off their hands. So I turned and practically ran, deciding I'd rather wipe my wet hands on my pants than spend an extra three seconds pulling the paper towels out of the dispenser next to the ahjumma's smiling, staring head.
"Your mom must be hot," she said as I walked away.
There are many ways to answer this question, and almost all of them are of the mentally scarring variety. So I gave her a generic 'Thanks' and continued my walking sprint back to my table.