I was out the other night and spotted a stone cold cutie. Just uber fine for no damn reason. Six-two (check-plus), beard (surprising, but check), maximum swag (check-plus), prettiest teeth like ever (well, until…), and not even chocolate hued (again surprising, but check). Not my usual type at all, so you know he had to be some kinda fine to turn my head. I point him out to my girl. She looks over her shoulder and confirms the loveliness of this masculine creature. Even better, she knows him.
Her: “Oh, that’s XXX.”
Me: “Introduce me.”
Her: “Eh… He’s fine, but…”
Someday, I would like to see and/or meet a new man that does not have a litany of extraordinary vices that immediately come to my mind when he crosses someone’s path. Flaws, I can handle. We all have them. But it seems that everyone that raises an eyebrow lately comes with some I-am-a-writer-and-I–could-not-make-this-trifling-sh*t-up-even-if-I-tried backstory. It’s like I see a dime-piece, and the second I acknowledge him, the deductions just start racking up. By the time the stories are finished, my dime has been reduced to two pennies.