Michelle's House of Horrors

I know what boys like
I know what guys want
I know what boys like
Boys like, boys like me

–The Waitresses/I Know What Boys Like

I am, or at least I used to be, very good at luring men.  When I was 20, a schoolmate noticed that I was not having any trouble attracting men and asked me how I managed. Apparently my charms are not readily apparent or something. Maybe  because I appeared to avoid  anything resembling normal social behaviors like talking to people.

Envious School-mate:  “I just don’t see how you do it. It’s not like you’re charming. You barely even talk.”

Me (in my head):  “For one thing, I have great boobs.  I’m also moderately good looking and I dress like Cyndi Lauper on a particularly slutty day. You are wearing something that looks like a gray wool potato sack.”

Me (out loud): “Let’s sit in this sidewalk cafe and have a beer. As soon as someone good looking walks by, I’ll show you what to do. It’s all in the eyes.”

We were in France, so it took a while for someone acceptably attractive to walk by.  He wasn’t French, which explains the good looks. I told  Envious that she should pay attention because I was going after the guy in the jean jacket. I lowered my head slightly, took a sip of my beer and as he approached he looked over. Of course he looked over. I was wearing a shiny gold lace dress and high top sneakers with “viva la droga” written on them. How could he not look? As he slowed down, I raised my eyes to look at him, gave a half smile and quickly lowered them. He kept walking.

 

Envious laughed and said something about losing my touch. I  quietly said “he’ll be back.”

He took another several steps and  turned around. Got a very slightly larger smile for his effort as I looked up at him through my bangs.  When he got to our table, he stopped and asked if he could buy me another beer. Envious just looked confused.

 

I turned to Envious after we finished our beer and asked if she had any questions.  All she said was “I still don’t get it. How did you know whe would come back?”  I shrugged in my best Gallic way and  replied “I just knew.”

Envious: “So you just sit there, look shy and bat your eyes?”

Me: “Pretty much. I must be unintimidating or something. Or it’s the cleavage.”

When you’re 20 years old and cute, it just isn’t that much of an effort to attract men.

 

I don’t know how much that technique would work for other people, but it definitely worked for me.

 

A little too well as it turns out.

I ended up marrying that guy.

 

 

 

I’ve got some sort of bug bite on my arm. It  tripled in size during the day, so I went to see a doctor to make sure my arm wasn’t going to fall off and keep me from going to the Duck game on Saturday.

As part of the exam, she measured the bite.  It’s 14cm x9cm.  I mentally calculated 14cm to around 6″ and looked it up when I got home to see how close I was.

It’s 5.5inches.

But who cares, right?

 

Well here’s the odd thing: everything that turned up in the Google window aside from the actual conversion was related to penis size.

Apparently 14cm is some sort of penile default.

 

It seems a lot larger as a bug bite than it does as a penis size….

 

 

 

Went to a party/ I danced all night/ I drank sixteen beers/ And I started up a fight/ But now I am jaded/ You’re out of luck/ I’m rolling down the stairs/ Too drunk to fuck

–Dead Kennedys/Too Drunk To Fuck

 

Drink up baby, look at the stars/ I’ll kiss you again between the bars

–Elliott Smith/Between the Bars

 

Liquor stores.

I love them almost as much as I love shoe stores, and not just because they sell me boozes.  Not that the alcohol isn’t a good enough reason already, but wait–there’s more!

There is something about a liquor store that reminds me of a book store. Maybe it’s the shelves, or maybe it’s just that so many writers are into the boozes.  Or maybe I’m bent. Maybe?

It is also because I love the way the bottles look.  Luckily I haven’t gotten into the habit of buying what’s in the cutest bottles. That seems like a road to Hell that wouldn’t even be paved with good intentions.

The most important reason that I love the liquor store is that it is the one place I can go where I will reliably have total strangers flirt with me. Unless there are no men present. If I ever come home from buying booze without a single hit, I am going to be a sad woman. It might just be an 85 year old joking about how the bottle of American Honey wants to go home with me because it knows an American honey when it sees one, but I find it very reassuring that SOMEONE still thinks I’m cute.

Why is it so important to have total strangers flirt with me?

Well.

 

It just is.

 

I’ll get back to you on that some other time.

 

And in case you’re wondering, it isn’t the same when they integrate booze into the grocery store. It isn’t special anymore then. Although, it is handy.

I just thought of something: what if they aren’t flirting with me because I’m cute? What if they are only flirting with me because of my excellent choice in booze? That can’t be it, can it?

Shit.