Blondus Paradoxicus

by James MacLaren

Another weirdie, this one, but surprisingly common nonetheless.

Blondie.

Well appointed physically.

And all decked out in the best possible wardrobe and makeup to even further enhance that blonde appeal.

But there’s a fly in the ointment.

For some fucking reason, this bird has taken it into her mind to cop a serious attitude if you even so much as glance in her direction.

Should there have been the least flicker of eye contact, she instantly breaks it and gets this look on her face. A look of pure contempt and annoyance, masked by one of those tight little cast iron smiles that bespeaks of exactly zero by way of friendliness.

Now just a goddamned minute here, Blondus.

You and I BOTH know the game that’s being played here.

Guys are genetically hardwired to make utter fools of themselves in the presence of attractive women. Known fucking scientific fact. They can’t avoid their sorry fate. They all want to get inside your pants. You know it. I know it. God knows it.

And you’ve gone out of your way to cause yourself to be even MORE distracting to the average dumb schmoe by rigging yourself up in that makeup and outfit.

And yet you persist in acting as if there’s a MAJOR problem if I so much as cast an eye in your direction.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with you. You’re trolling for doctors, lawyers, or perhaps a recent lottery winner. I’m not included among those you deem worthy of maintaining you in the style which you’d like to become accustomed to. But I’m a guy. With all the genetic hardwiring that goes with being a guy.

And so YES I’m gonna stare at your ass when you walk by whether you like it or not. Can’t be helped. If it’s such a big goddamned problem with you then at least lay off with the damn makeup and outfit, ok?

Fuck off, asshole.