No touching!

I was at the bank yesterday depositing a check, on my way to meeting up with some friends. I had just done my morning routine, and therefore apparently still smelled like my moisturizer and perfume. The bank teller took my papers, then stopped and regarded me with a quizzical look. I have an extraordinarily guilty conscience at all times and so began to glance nervously at the cameras as if I were an actual bank robber. Eyes darting from side to side, I tried to remember whether I had handed her a robbery note or a deposit slip. I hadn't had any coffee yet, so this was a more legitimate concern than it might otherwise appear.

"I give up," she said, which lent some credence to the robbery-in-progress theory. "What is that perfume? I know I know it." With a happy sigh of relief, I told her, and hoped that we could conclude our business. Instead, she reached under the counter and pulled out her purse, explaining that she knew another great scent for me. "Hold out your hands." I did, and she proceeded to rub perfumed lotion into my hands. This strikes me as rather an intimate gesture for a person I have never seen before. She then listed all the other perfumes she loved, Forrest Gump style, while I made little noises of affirmation and hoped she would someday release my hands. I pictured them on the news, holding up little newspapers and explaining that they were being well cared for. What I in fact did was obligingly sniff my own hands and ask follow-up questions about the name of the scent and where I might obtain some.

While all this was going on, the Saturday morning queue continued to form behind me, and the other customers were alternately glaring at me and staring open-mouthed at the proceedings. Mortified. Why does this sort of thing only happen to me?