the gas station is not my love station

So here I was thinking the last exciting love connection I was going to make before my looming birthday next week would be an awkward set-up last month. I had no idea one stop at the gas station, post-workout would change all that. Sure sometimes it is nice to be noticed but getting hit on at the gas station. Seriously??
So back to the story, in a short time span of about 2 minutes, two different men felt the need to approach me. OK, the first one was just hitting me up for cash but the second guy, a big muscle guy, came over with the opening line of "So, I came over here to hit on you." Clever and subtle he is not. He then quickly asked for my name, where I had just worked out and if I was single. Yes, I pulled the fake boyfriend card. Who wouldn't? But that didn't deter..."How about lunch as friends? What would the harm of that be?" Quite a bit, I'm sorry to say, my fake boyfriend is crazy jealous. Thank Jesus my gas tank filled up miraculously fast. I did make it into the car before he asked for a number.
And for those who know me, I would not have even considered using a friend's name or worse yet giving out a friend's number as my own. Yea, I've done that more than once - for some reason all through college that seemed like a better idea to me than giving a complete wrong number. Somehow I always thought 'at least they will be calling someone who will nicely tell them they have the wrong number.' I know my friends really appreciated that one, sorry girls!
I do believe in timing and fate playing a part in how I'll meet the right guy, but the fact that he happend to pull up at the gas pump next to me, will surely not be the way it finally happens. But then again, so far, all the seemingly logical ways for it to happen haven't been quite as I imagined. Who know, maybe the sweaty and gross, straight from the gym thing works for me and this needs to start being my going-out look. As for the bad set-up last month, I think that debacle deserves its own posting - to be continued.