I was once on the Metro in Paris looking at a young lady across a crowded car who was smiling at me. I remember thinking, "Wherever she get's out, I'm getting out".
A couple of stops later she starts to stand up. I start pushing through the crowd. As the train stops she reaches up for the strap above her seat. I get full view of her right armpit. Same auburn color as the hair on her head and nearly as thick.
Here is where it gets weird. She looks at me, hands me a mango and get's off the train. It has her name and number on it. I'm looking at the mango when a beggar tugs on my sleeve and points to the mango. He gives me a leering grin and says "Belinda???" I look at him, then at the mango, and respond "Oui". He points to the mango, then to himself. I say "Have it, it might the last number you get.", in broken French. Instead of putting it in his pocket, he eats the thing whole, then wanders into the next car muttering "fin, fin....".
To this day, I wonder how my life would have been different if young Belinda owned a Lady Gillette?