Sunday, April 26, 2009

Are the good ones afraid of me?

My dad once told me that guys were afraid of me, and that anyone who wasn't afraid of me just wasn't smart enough to know better.

I hope that explains why I seem to be attracting the bottom feeders lately. That sounds so mean, but you should see these guys. Unshaven, sloppy, shoes untied, shirts untucked, dumb as tapioca, goofy laughs, rancid breath...

I try to be nice because I feel sorry for them, and what does it get me? Twenty desk walk-bys during the day and covert looks of speculation and assessment-- like they are considering whether they should splurge and take me out for Gordita Grandes at Taco Johns after work. One guy even tried to call me but I have Caller ID.

And if they do ask me out, I won't hurt their feelings, so I'll make up some story about why I can't go -- elective surgery, visiting relatives, sudden-onset measles, etc. They'll walk away thinking that I really am interested but I just can't work them in. Ugh. And all because I was nice. When will I learn?

On the other hand, there is a guy at work who is tall, smart, funny and really nice. He ties his shoes, tucks in his shirts and brushes his teeth. I'd go out with him in a heartbeat and I've done just about everything but throw myself at his feet. Does he walk by my desk and cast longing looks at me? No.

I'm hoping it is because he's scared of me, and not because he thinks I'm a bottom feeder. That would serve me right.

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