|This is not me|
But the truth is, there are some guys out there who are so goddamn hot, I simply have no business sleeping with them. And yet, I am. And it's awesome, but also sobering.
Picture this: all 5'1" of me rolls into the bar alongside a strapping, broad-shouldered fellow who, were he sporting pinstripes instead of his [perfectly tailored, probably custom] trousers, would not look out of place on the pitcher's mound at Yankee Stadium. We're basically a reverse Billy Joel and Christie Brinkley.
|Mr. Joel, could I borrow your shades? People are staring at us|
Maybe he digs my rapid-fire wit or the fact that I can rattle off informed opinions about this season's Amazon Pilot offerings. Whatever. He's choosing to be here with me, y'all, so stop leering.
The ego trip of strolling out at last call with the dude every other girl wanted to take home doesn't always make up for a night spent straining to hear what he's saying to me instead of what the cranky jerks next to us are saying to each other about me. All of which is compounded by the fact that he is NOT my boyfriend, thankyouverymuch, and so really, who's to say he's not going to excuse himself to use the facilities and discreetly pluck some better-looking lass out of the crowd on his way? He's a hot guy. I know he has options.
What about you, Team SK? Has being on the lower end of the attractiveness see-saw than your mate ever put a black fly in your Chardonnay? Tell me in the comments.