Sometimes You're the Shar-Pei

I was standing in the line at Kroger some time ago when I noticed the lady in front of me was giving me the eyeball. You know – sneaking a quick peek now and again when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I love that.

As a guy - catching a woman looking is always a lot of fun because we automatically assume that, clearly, this person is eyeballing me because she would love to make out.

With me.

Right this second.

She’s not staring because I’ve just cut her off in the parking lot, accidentally knocked over the display of gefilte fish, I’m riding on the back of the buggy like it’s a skateboard, or because I’m pushing a cart full of nothing but dried meat snacks, Pringles, and toilet paper. None of those reasons are legitimate – it MUST be something else, and it MUST somehow directly relate to my innate virility.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m not apologizing. I’m single and it’s a fun thought – like winning the lottery or somebody giving me a Porsche.

I’m also not saying I’d engage in anything smooch-related right there in Kroger – or near the Kroger for that matter. In fact, I’d say the likelihood that I’d so much as brush cheeks with a checkout-line-companion is slim because (even beyond the obvious moral implications) what about cold sores? That’s enough incentive for me - I don’t want ‘em and maybe she’s got ‘em, but you don’t know until it’s too late because cold sores are the silent killer. Say what you will, but that’s an STD stuck right to your face – and everybody knows it. They’re like the creatures in that ALIEN movie with Sigourney Weaver; everything feels fine - then you wake up one morning and WHOA! WHAT IS THAT THING ON YOUR FACE!!??? Then you die.

So, I’m standing in line thinking about all this when the full import of the situation hits me: I’m staring blankly ahead into this woman’s checkout basket (as if carefully studying its contents), my lips are moving and I’m gently smiling to myself. When I come to my senses I realize: the only two items in her basket are the largest package of Maximum-Strength Midol Cramp Relief I have ever seen and a bottle of red wine.

She is looking at me quite firmly and it slowly dawns on me: I am one buggy-length away from the beating of my life. This woman does not want to make out with me...Ever...and I know of 96 blister-packed reasons why.

That changed my entire perspective on things.

I think a key part of the male maturation process is realizing early in life that, despite what your mother thinks: not everyone is going to want to go out with you. It’s just that simple and there are myriad reasons why that’s the case. Moreover - it's ok! If everybody DID want to go out with you – you’d never get anything done.

There are so many legitimate reasons why NOT to date someone, but everybody always gets so up-in-arms when they get cut for their looks. I just don’t get that at all. What bothers ME is when I get sent down the shaft for my PERSONALITY – think about THAT next time the door opens and there’s no elevator.

Looks you're born with, but personality was all YOUR fault.

Looks bias I can understand – I don’t like shar-peis, but maybe you do – you know? If you don’t like the way I look – fair enough. You drive an ugly car. So, you're stupid and I win.

This thought will probably ruin your life, but listen here - what gets me is: if its not how you look – it must be something much more sinister that you can’t comb-over.

Like cold sores, for instance.