I've never thought of myself as a "dimple woman," but something about this guy's dimples is turning my head so fast, I'm gettin' whiplash up in herre. When he flashes a smile, it's like he has two spotlights on either side illuminating it. His face comes with its own set of single quotation marks! I'm mesmerized.
There's so much I could do in there. I wanna fill 'em up with vanilla ice cream and make hot fudge sundaes on both sides of his face. I wanna fit his dimples with jacuzzis and swim in them until my fingertips pucker. I wanna flank them with fur pelts and roll around like a cavewoman on her wedding night. (Do cavewomen even have weddings? Whatever.)
I wonder if he'll let me touch 'em. Probably not. It's best to just sit here and quietly take them in, like a lecture from a distinguished professor. In other news, now I understand how Mario Lopez has managed to have a career that's spanned decades: IT'S THE DIMPLES, STUPID!