Can't a girl walk the streets of Chicago without having her back gently blown on by a little schmuck? Apparently not because I tried it during my lunch break today only to discover an itty bitty 5'1" blonde man doing just that... to and fro, back and forth, nice and easy, minding his own biz while I debate between soup and a salad.
It tickled. After I made the realization that there was surprisingly no breeze and logically figured there must be a smurf blowing on my back, I turned around, peered down at him, pushed my sunglasses to the tip of my nose and gave him the look that said "hey buddy, listen here, I'm a little weirded out by this advance so if you could just cross the street and blow on some other girl, I'd really appreciate it."
And on he went. Had it been a massage, this would have ended very differently.