I decided to take a swing through Craig’s List personals for the hell of it, though I don’t really want a relationship, maybe just a nice friend with benefits more than anything at this point. No time for head games or confusion, no heart available for breaking. You know how it is.
And what do I see? “If you’re a your-pic-gets-mine, go away — I hate shallow people.”
Put a cork in it, whiney.
Jesus Christ. “Shallow.” SHALLOW? Fuck that. Anyone who thinks physicality and the need of pictures is shallow is someone who’s just five minutes away from the playground, all right? What are you, some little kid who’s tired of being picked last for soccer or something?
Me, I’m not looking for the next Johnny Depp or Tom Cruise. Not in a long shot. I don’t want some muscle-bound adonis able to leap fenceposts in a single move, nor do I want chiselled features and a rock-hard ab. What I do want is someone with that little je-ne-sais-quoi appeal that maybe only exists for my benefit. Maybe no one else in the world finds ’em sexy, but if I do, that’s enough for me.
Me, I gotta have eyes I can fall into and lips that make me wanna kiss ’em. I gotta have a face I can stare at and talk to for hours. Without those, what’s the point?
It ain’t shallow to acknowledge that there is, to an extent, an importance when it comes to physical features. I’d be a hypocrite if I said I don’t expect him to need to find me attractive, and I’d be a fool if I thought all men would indeed find me attractive. More than half probably wouldn’t. I’m overweight, gots ze cushion for the pushin’, subscribe to the bonus-lover plan, have tits that could be larger, a gap between my teeth, and a crooked eyebrow. Me, I think it works in its own kooky way. The guys who like me, they like me. Then I have the personality and the sexual vivaciousness, and it all combines rather decently.
But it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I’m not going to get all broken-hearted ‘cos a guy doesn’t find me to his liking. Odds are pretty good that’s a mutual finding. It ain’t shallow.
Grow the fuck up and get your idealism out of your ass, is what I have to say, all right? Silly kids, brain cells aren’t optional. Opt in or get out. Simple.
Now, because I do not have a friend with benefits to take my frustrations out on, I’m going to straddle a bike seat and give it a good, hard riding instead. I feel some punk music comin’ on.