I wish I was a peacock. I could just flash my
plumage and if the lovely lady peacocks (or are the
females called peavaginas?) were interested, they
would approach me. End of story. No buying drinks,
no witty introductory remarks, no begging on hands and
knees.
Alas, I am not a peacock. It is much worse; I am a
single man. Approaching a woman is so brutal. I feel
like I’m saying, “Hi. Based on this sentence and my
appearance, do you want to spend your life with me or
at least get sweaty together?” I hate it. One hardly
has room to shine in that brief and contrived
situation. I need a chance to grow on someone, after
all, my 9th grade class DID elect me as “Best
Personality”… which now that I think about it, isn’t
that how they refer to nice people who are ugly? Oh
man. Well, at least I didn’t win “Most Big-Boned”.
I see woman get swarmed by men at clubs like high
school kids around a marijuana-filled pinata. I need a way to introduce myself that
doesn’t scream, “I’m exactly like every guy that just
introduced themselves to your breasts.”
My solution
is simple: Resumes. Seriously, a basic relationship
resume with past girlfriends or boyfriends listed (or
both…lucky bisexuals, so many to choose from) would
suffice. This way, a little research into my past (including
letters of recommendations from former girlfriends) and
you have a much better picture of me than my
astrological sign. (By the way, I’m a Gemini… but I’m
hung like a Taurus.) We’d fill out some simple forms
and *POW*, love is on its way. But I don’t want to
ruffle any feathers… Get it? "Feathers"? ‘Cause of the plumage
reference at the beginning… get it? Sigh.
other tales by Kaya
