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Picture this:A sweet looking guy … nice smile … in blindingly white Old Schools, a nicely-fitting pair of Levis (not too tight, not too slack), a crisp white tee, and maybe a pristine fitted cap (Yankees, of course).
Nice, huh?
He’s not real.
Well, he might be real … somewhere … but for the purposes of this blog, let’s just say I made him up.
Why? Because he is what I dream of seeing every time I hear “Psst … Family! Tallest! Reds!”
Every time I hear some random guy sooting me from across the street, on the corner, or in a passing car, I close my eyes for a quick second and make the following wish: “Please Lord, don’t let this be some homely-looking fella in dingy clothes holding a Stag and liming with his equally dingy friends.”
*sigh*
The Good Lord has yet to answer that particular prayer.
Every time I open my eyes, without fail, there’s some busted-looking guy eyeing me like dessert and actually waiting for a response. He’s also sometimes old enough to be my father’s big brother.
Gross.
At this point, I usually make a quick exit, diving into a store, a taxi, or even into traffic, if it’ll get me away from the wino asking me if it hurt when I fell from heaven.
More often than not, I get a parting lecture from the gentleman on my manners, or lack thereof. The nerve of me, neglecting to respond to his romantic gesture!
It’s all enough to beg several questions:
1. Who the heck is responding to these attempts that they keep trying? I mean, “family”? Really? Do you actually go around hitting on cousins, or is there a hidden meaning that I’m missing?
2. What exactly are they expecting in response? “Who, me? Oh, you’re so sweet! Here’s my number.” Not bloody likely.
3. Did you really think you had a chance with an attempt like that? Not to sound conceited, but, come on. You like the way I look, enough to say something about it. Something unoriginal and hella corny, but still. Why not come over and act like an actual human being, rather than panting and baying like a rabid dog?
Just sayin’.
Seriously, guys. I’m inclined to believe that there aren’t that many of you, because most of the guys I talk to claim never to behave this way. Which leads me to believe that the few of you are working overtime, because lots of my friends are getting sooted every day.
So.
Why not get a hobby? Take up a sport, read a book, rent a movie. Something, anything other than harassing women who want nothing to do with you.
Unless there’s something I’m missing.
Unless, that is, you’re getting some kind of satisfaction out of being ignored by the very women you wish you could get next to.
If so, do tell. I’m all ears.
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