I wouldn't have believed it had I not witnessed it with my own peepers. Some things are too jarring and discordant for contemplation, but here it was in front of me: proof that women are just like men.
Let me back up. In a bizarre twist of life, I find myself involved in an activity new to me, namely car-pooling. A new guy arrived in the pool last week - I hope he showers before donning his trunks just a lame 'pool' joke there but I have to do something to keep my sanity - joining my friend and I for a joyous two x forty minute ride. Every day.
To look at him is to be impressed. He's six-three or four (around .00057 Eiffel Towers for you internationalists) and big...by which I mean he's probably 300 ellbees. He is blessed with good looks - even I can see that - somewhere between a corpulent Colin Farrell and a gone-to-seed Clooney. But his looks aren't my point (even if they're his.)
An hour-and-a-half a day sitting in a car with a bloke pretty quickly leads to a character assessment. Is he serious or flippant, calm or emotional, a doer or a dreamer? Conversation leads to conclusions. I'll tell you what this dude is; he's an anvil. He's heavy, metallic and really not much good for anything. After a week, there's a lot of silence on our drive.
So it was with interest that I observed him out on Saturday night. He likes ladies, and even went so far as to offer that he is picked-up more than he picks, which I am shocked to reveal is true. In the course of a couple of hours I saw two women approach him and flash their interest. He is like an irresistible target for rogue women cruise missiles. They all want to blow him....up.
Once again I'm faced with having to question my thinking that women are more refined than men. Nope. They want tall guys with looks. That's it.
Bottoms Up, Ironsmiths.
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