I go to a particular place for lunch several times a week.
While I’m not on a first name basis with the manager, he feels he knows me well enough to chat me up sometimes.
The other day he said, “Hey, you’re a good looking married guy judging from the wedding ring on your finger. You have a lot of women hittin’ on ya?”
I turned around to see who he was talking to when I realized he was talking to me.
He said, “I’ll tell ya man, this wedding ring is a freekin’ babe magnet! They won’t leave me alone! How about you?”
What you need to understand is this guy is somewhat geeky and has roughly 60lbs. on me, never mind the fact that he dresses like a slob with flecks of todays’ special all over his shirt.
He’s what you would call ‘a tad rough around the edges’.
Now, I’m no slave to fashion but I usually wear a nice ironed Polo shirt, khakis and a Harris Tweed suit coat, I’m not Rockefeller mind you but I look decent enough.
Never have I ever been ‘hit on’ like this guy.
In my mind, I gave a perfunctory whiff of my underarms and general body aroma (I say ‘aroma’ because I usually smell like whatever cologne I’m wearing that day. Truth be told, I had a flamboyantly gay customer tell me one day that I smelled ‘delicious’. Now if that’s not a compliment, I don’t know what is. I was wearing Paul Sebastian cologne) and there was nothing negative in terms of overall fragrance, albeit a hint of cigar smoke.
I aromatically ripen after five o’clock.
“No.” I said, “No hits today.”
“Man,” he said, “I’ve had like three women asking around today! Three!”
”They must love you for your massive Columbo, “ I laughed, nodding in the direction of the frozen yogurt machine.
“Oh, yeah man!” he said, chuckling as I walked away with my lunch.
My pheromones must be on sabbatical or something.
All I seem to attract are guys that think I smell delicious, squirrels that want me solely for my food and bible toting assclowns that want to talk to me about Jesus.
Maybe it’s time for some new cologne.
I’ll have to ask my buddy in the Food Court what he wears because I hear the women are all over him like graffiti on an abandoned freight train.
My wife selected the picture.
I was emotionally torn between pics of Jack Palance and Harry Dean Stanton