From Samantha, who digs a rolled-up sleeve, mmkay?:
Rolled up sleeves just bellow, “I’m a business dude who also likes to kick it.” I imagine him rollin’ ‘em up while in a stressful office discussion regarding spreadsheets or this quarter’s sales reports. Or maybe we’re sitting outside some crappy bar and the sun is streaming a ray of helpful sunshine down on him and is all, “I’ve got your back, girl” and thanks to the heat, he’s forced to roll them up and give me a peek at what I’m working with: Hairy arms? Not so hairy? Strong and strapping? Floppier than cold spagetti? I’ve GOT TO KNOW.
|I'm telling you, ladies love rolled up sleeves! It's like catnip|
Not to mention, I’m dutifully impressed when a dude wears a button-down when it’s hot out. Like he wants to dress to impress and you know, not just throw an old band t-shirt on for a date. And the best part is that he’s forced to roll his sleeves up, so his forearms aren’t punished in the heat. And then that just leaves me as the one sweating it out, because those forearms are making me all hot and not bothered. Oh, not at all.
A rolled down sleeve is just a cockblock between me and those forearms. I mean sure I could just coyly squeeze his arm when he makes a "Parks and Rec" reference or says how he hopes I don’t mind his futon or whatever.
I could even just wait until we’ve had enough beers to make it back to the bedroom, but I CANNOT STAND THE SUSPENSE. What if I get him all the way home for the big reveal and the universe says “Surprise! He shaves his arms! Gotcha, bitch!” and I have to feign being sick over too many craft beers to hide my disappointment? I can’t take that risk!I hear ya, sister. Nothing makes me wanna fling my off Old Navy dress faster than seeing a man flex his strong-ass arms as he grips the remote control to flip to a new episode of "Chefs Wanted with Anne Burrell" or some other Food Network bullshit.