Yesterday, at a location I will not disclose because it is now my secret stalking area, I saw the best looking man I’ve ever seen in my life. It was like one of those movies where the guy comes walking down the road, in slow motion, out of some kind of fog of love, and you know that you will never ever see anything as beautiful as long as you live.
And I have competition, because I was sitting at a table with my friend (whose name shall remain anonymous) and he fell in love with him too. The two of us spent the rest of lunch looking at his broad gorgeous back, sitting at the table next to us, and trying to decide which team he plays for — I know he plays for my team or else I shall have to impale myself on a cheese log.
So I’ve named him James, but his friends call him Jim and well I call him Jimmy. My friend, let’s call him Harold, says his name is Derek. WTF? That’s from a romance novel or the name of a new york yankee who I can’t stand. No it’s definitely Jim.
Now I just have to hope he would like to date his grandmother and we will live happily ever after. By the way, he had no wedding ring — it was the third thing I looked at — you can figure out what the first two were.