October 15, 2005
Just Like The Old Man In That Book By Nabokov
Have you ever had one of those events happen to you where the greatest thing in the world turns out to be your ultimate nightmare? Well then, welcome to my world.
Earlier, Morn and I were coming up to the Love Palace in the elevator. Also boarding the elevator...2 smoking hot little numbers.
I'm talking about some serious pieces of ass here. So smoking hot, Paul Buceta - Mr. "I Love Models" himself - would find himself in the embarrassing situation of having his pants explode. For a change.
No, this isn't one of them. But do you care?
The two girls were loaded down with groceries. I thought about offering to help carry them, but then I realized that Morn was carrying about 20 pounds worth of cargo herself, whilst I only had my iPod and my keys in my hands. After a quick cost/benefit analysis, I decided that offering my grocery-carrying services would be a fast track to a kick in the fuzzy coin purse.
Instead, I simply hit our floor - 11 - and asked the 2 girls what floor they were going to. "10", they said.
Oh sweet mother of Neptune. They're on the floor below me.
Now, if I wasn't totally, 100% in love with Morn, this would have excited me to the point of spontaneous release. Instead, there was just some minor twitching compounded by the fact that my pants seemed to shrink a bit. But that's not my fault...I blame genetics.
I then executed the patented "Naked Critic" maneuver, which consisted of gawking at their pert, perky breasts and tight behinds without Morn's knowledge. Provided, of course, that Morn had been stricken blind in the previous 30 seconds. Sadly, she hadn't been, but I'll get to that.
Again, not really one of them. And again, I really, REALLY don't care.
When we arrived on the 10th floor, I was gentleman enough to hold the elevator door open for these hot girls, who I had deduced were not only bisexual strippers, but liked to engage in lingerie-clad pillow fights at least 3 times a day.
That's when it happened. Hottie number one turned her head and said:
"Thank you very much...SIR."
Guh?
Sir? SIR? Do I LOOK like a fucking SIR?????
"I'm 33 fucking years old," I thought to myself. "These girls are adults...about 21. That means I'm only...oh Christ. I'm TWELVE years older than them."
It was at that point when I felt myself age...RAPIDLY. Have you ever read "The Picture Of Dorian Grey"? That's what happened to me as the elevator doors glided closed...in a matter of seconds, I became an old, grey, dusty man staring at 2 firm, tight, hot little asses sashaying down the hallway...or at least, sashaying as best as they could with groceries in tow.
That sucked.
But not as much as when the elevator door closed. Without even looking me in the eye, Morn simply said in a high-pitched "bimbo" voice, "By the way, I really love creepy old guys staring at my ass, SIR!"
Don't stand...don't stand...don't stand so close to me...(Too obscure?)
D'oh!
Coincidentally, that was also the LAST thing she said to me. She hasn't spoken to me since.
But the joke's on her. She's going to HAVE to speak to me. I hid her car keys when she wasn't looking. So there.
