I was out grocery shopping today and this really nice looking girl walked by me. Neat, pretty green dress, just like straight and hangy, not fitted….elegant like. That sort of White House look. She comes from good stock. Nice Girl and I are destined for that white picket fence life, the kids, dogs, mortgage payments, walking for fitness, his and hers bath robes, k-y, sex 3 times a week….the adequacy of missionary. Her name is probably Susan and hates it when I say Suzie.
She calls her mom ‘Mother’.
I’m gonna miss her though, because seconds later I see some girl with dice tattooed on her arm and I’m swept away.
Taxi drivers don’t change lanes this fast and without warning.
Tattoo girl and I will live a life of booming metal, bite marks and everyone cringing when they see us in public, but we wouldn’t care. We’re too edgy for the mainstream world. Pet snake, red light-bulbs, bedroom painted black, scented candles, PDA, flavoured lube, crystals and our names tattooed on each other…..she likes being choked….but it gets weird sometimes.
That was the dream…the life. I could almost taste it. Black t-shirts everyday and a permanent grimace.
White girls. I should have known better when she introduced herself as Carol-Ann.
It feels like my romantic life would be easier if I had a type. One thing I like and don’t settle for anything else. Filtering people out would be so easy. I consistently fall for strong personalities, but as for looks I’m all over the place.
Tall, short. Husky, skinny, toned. Cougars, reverse cougars…if there is such a thing. I’m talking about girls much younger than me. I’m a sucker for nice legs…sweet buns, dimples or no dimples, long hair or short. Dark eyes seems to be a constant. Blonde hair is pretty, but brunettes and black hair….yikes.
I’ve deliberately left one out here….it’s my problem. My fucking weakness. My cryptonite.
I’m a boob man you see and while it might be a common preference, I’ve broken up with a girl, because I couldn’t have as much fun with her as I had with everyone else. You just can’t do the same stuff and that left me unhappy and distant. I’m exaggerating of course….but it wasn’t great.
You shouldn’t have to wonder what to do with a pair of yams.
So the busty girl was the only real prospect. She gave me the once over twice, but she was shopping in a herd and I had my son with me.
Anyway, so she didn’t look terribly interesting compared to the others…apart from her hefty jugs, she’s kind of a plain Jane.
While it’s easy to imagine the potential life or dynamics with the others, when it comes to a well endowed girl, I can’t even think up a fake name. That people is how truly helpless I am around big jubblies….im not proud that I find them so overwhelming, but I do.
My headstone will read “He had a problem with boobs, but otherwise he was alright.”
I’m not a picky person at all. It only seems that way, because I draw the line with rudeness and stupidity. Two things that are running rampant nowadays.
I have been fortunate enough to go on a date recently with an astonishingly bright girl, who’s funny and can have a decent conversation as well as indecent. Doesn’t hurt that’s she’s pretty as well, but good company is in such short supply and my attention span is like a goldfish when it comes to women and my willingness to listen to what they have to say next.
I don’t feel like my standards are too high, just that what people have to offer or care to offer is becoming less and less.
For those of you living that one flavour life, I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems, but the ability to decide and settle on one kind of girl ain’t one.
Merry Christmas.
A Guy with Kids 