Defense Mechanism

The company I work for encourages volunteerism among its staff. A noble thing, to be sure, and being a noble gent of sorts, I anteed up and put in for some hours last night, at a local food pantry. The work is fairly easy; you just sort packages of food into boxes, then seal up the boxes. Then we all go home or get liquored up and chase tail.

So last night, at the volunteer site, I get paired up with another girl from my office who I'd never met. We'll call her Sandy. Sandy's job is to tie three boxes of food together, then she hands them off to me and I pack them six-deep in a large crate. Sandy is chubby, with a flat ass, large round boobs and a pretty face. Not my type at all, but she seems friendly and I anticipate at least some decent conversation to make the time pass as we're sorting and packing.

Turns out, Sandy's a Talker. Talks about everything. Did I see Lost the other night? Don't I just hate the MBTA? Isn't Game On the coolest place to hang out?

So I nod and politely smile and put in my two cents where I'm allowed. The clock is, thankfully, moving along nicely and we're stacking up crates at a respectable pace. She keeps yammering and I keep smiling, and then at one point, out of the blue, she blurts out, "Oh, I should tell you, I have a boyfriend."

Well, thank christ she cleared that up with me. I mean, she obviously noticed, as my eyes glazed over with each passing box of Triscuits or deviled ham, that I was clearly sizing up her ass for a right good fucking. I glanced over and acknowledged it with a quick smile and a, "Well, he's one lucky guy." Then we got back to the work at hand.

So where, exactly, does this sort of thing come from? Is it just the need to let the entire free world know you're getting laid? Or has my "warning: pervert at large" vibe becoming increasingly obvious with each passing year?