I’m not even sure this is TMI, but it isn’t something I’m proud of and so I’m running with it.
Oh internets. I come to you today with a shameful confession: I check out men’s packages. A lot.
I don’t know why and I can’t help it. It’s not a sexual thing…well, sometimes it is but most of the time it’s not. I’m not, like, judging anyone on shape or comparing bulges. Jeez, internets, I’m not an animal. I just can’t help but look.
I am always the first to notice someone’s fly is down.
“Not that I’m looking but… your fly is down.”
Oh but I am looking. Old, young, fugly, attractive–I am an equal opportunity peeker.
I’d like to think that I’m pretty discrete about the whole thing; a quick glance and then I go on about my business. There was nothing discrete about my behavior yesterday, though.
Again, I couldn’t help it. At work I deal with a lot of outside contractors, and all I needed from this particular gentleman were 2 documents so I could draw up a contract. Instead of handing me the two pieces of paper, he was blabbering on about boring shit. I don’t think it was important, or at least I hope it wasn’t because I wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying at all.
For starters, he looked like a bizarro version of a guy I used to date; an older, cleaner-cut, probably sober version. It was eerie. Secondly (is that even a word?), he was wearing green pants and a beige canvas belt. Something about that combination was like a Chinese finger trap for my eyes. I could not look away. I guess it also didn’t help that I was sitting at my desk and he was standing to the side of my monitor, putting his, ahem, area, right in my line of sight.
It was awkward, at least for me.
Finally I was able to tear my eyes away from his crotch long enough to make eye contact and let him know that if he could email the documents in question to me by 10 am tomorrow morning, that would be fine.
But I couldn’t let it go there, internets.
He laughed at my use of “fine” and asked what would have been “perfect.”
“Right now would have been perfect,” I answered, “but I’m used to dissappointment so I’ll be satisfied with fine.”
Guys, I don’t even know what that means, but at the time it sounded vaguely sexual. By the time he left my face was bright red and I wanted to hide under desk for the remainder of the day.
Head on over and see LiLu for more TMI deliciousness.