Spare some change?

I never thought I looked like a homeless person.

I'm clean, and employed (well, self-employed). I rent an apartment on the east side near the beaches. I'm fairly well groomed and moderately accessorized. My clothes tend to be comfy but well maintained, and I usually carry a purse. Or my trusty Triple Five Soul Backpack -- which, granted, has lately been doing its best impression of backpack that wants to retire.

Last night, after a day of shopping, attending a press event, working out and topping off a late-ish evening with an amazing heap of lovely Chinese food (oh, Rol San... giver of tasty dish delights), I was sitting outisde with a friend. My other chum had left to go swoop and beguile her way around the Velvet Underground (gothy night). My other chum and I were sitting on a stair in the doorway next to the restaurant, full, content and lazy. Queen Street seemed dreadfully far away and we were trying to digest, while simultaneously mocking each other (a pasttime I seem to enjoy with most of my friends -- odd).

Two young gentlemen stopped. One looked at us and said, "Are you girls alone?" I looked behind us at the darkened doorway, and looked at my friend. We indicated that yes, we were alone.

He pulled out his wallet.

Now, my first instinct was that he thought we were prostitutes (most girls who spend any time in the downtown area have been approached in some manner, shape or form), and was going for a handful of bills. But no. He was going for change.

My next thought was,"Change? What's he going to do, ask for a toonie blowjob?" (I was rather insulted. I mean, I never considered myself quite that cheap.) Beside me, my friend suddenly exclaimed, "Oh no, we're not homeless!"

"Are you sure?" asked the philanthropist, looking slightly bewildered. Fearing his embarassment, we quickly assured him that no, we were not homeless. But really, his gesture was very kind. I indicated the brown paper shopping bag beside me, apologizing for shopping at Whole Foods earlier that day. But really, that was very nice of him, but no -- we were reasonably certain that we weren't homeless.

His friend quickly tried to get his attention and steered him away. By which point, we had already leaned back in the dorrway and started howling hysterically.

"I mean," gasped my friend, "What is it exactly about my nice heels and pink purse which says 'homeless'?"

Well.
It was an experience indeed.

(And I wonder what does it says about us when we were far more insulted by skanky twats in their skintight pants, fuck-me-heels and trashy big hair who tried to giggle and wiggle their way in front of us at the bank machine line?)