Sunday, October 2, 2011

Checking You Out

The club featured a parade of beauties last night. I was there with the usual suspects, cheering and throwing confetti. I decided to try something new: a direct approach method. Well, it was a bit angular because I gained entrance by staring at a prospect’s feet.

Paranoia breeds curiosity.

“Why are you staring at my feet?”
“Oh, I was checking if you have a bitch toe.”
“A what?”
“Bitch toe. If your index toe is longer than your thumb toe, you might be a meanie.”
“That’s silly.”
“Well, you don’t have one so you’re off the hook. I bet you’re nice.”
“I am, but don’t you think it’s odd to walk around staring at people’s feet?”
“Fine. I’m going to stare at knees now.”
“Women prefer it when you look into their eyes.”
“I see. Wow, what big eyes you have.”
“Look, Wolfman Jackass, saying someone’s eyes are big is not a compliment.”
“You would prefer?”
“How about lovely, addictive, or sexy?”
“OK, you have lovely eyes.”
“Fine. Your eyes are like glistening pebbles in a clear stream of loveliness.”
“Better. I’m going to help my friend carry our drinks back from the bar. Be right back.”
“I am going to check you out when you turn around. Just sayin’.”
“You can’t warn a person about that. Now I’m all paranoid.”
“Don’t be paranoid. I like what I see so I want to see more.”
“Thank you, but it’s borderline creepy when you say it.”
“Hey, what can I say? I’m an open book—yellowing with dog ears and a few pages missing, ideal for potty reading.”

She backed away to prevent my staring at her butt.

I never understand why women feel uncomfortable when men check them out. Women spend so much time on hair, skin, and clothing; you’d think they’d be disappointed if every man looked past or around them. I adore women and I am highly attracted to them. I try not to be too creepy, but when I find myself staring at my beer bottle, I feel creepier.

Here’s what I have found: Women feel uncomfortable when certain men check them out. The certain men I am referring to are ones who are not mating options. The other exception is the gay friend. If the target is attracted to the voyeur, she’s flattered. If not, she’s overcome by heebie-jeebies.

“You know, it’s unsafe to walk backwards in a crowded bar.”
“You were going to check out my butt.”
“I’m still going to. In fact, I already have and I give it high marks.”
“Can’t you just be a normal guy and ask me if I come here often?”
“Nope. Lift your hair; let me see your neck.”
“Now you’re a vampire?”
“I’m not going to bite you, I mean, unless you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Fine, I’ll play along. So, what do you do?”
“Nibble necks and write books.”
“Really? What kind?”
“Creamy, hairless ones that tickle when I kiss them.”
“What kind of books, you nut?”
“Oh, just silly books about dating struggles.”
“That explains it.”
“Can I sniff your wrist now?”

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