Picking Up A Cute One While Blog Slogging On A Hot Day In An Air Conditioned Office...

Well, I went out for a bit and looked around. Life, is indeed, still life. Boys are still boys. Girls are still girls. The ritual of bikini luring and boys "trying to get a nibble" are as alive and well as they ever were. This next little vignette/story was told by Lizz, a young (well, compared to a "Just For Men" user like myself) thinker and writer who maintains her blog--

http://mythoughtbubbles.blogspot.com/

with all the earnestness of... well, let's say an "Ernie".

What struck me about this story, is that-- like a very first kiss-- there is a universal familiarity and a direct honesty about the situation. Everyone is clear on the ritual. The rules have been set. The game is on....



---BOYS WHO READ---

It's a beautiful day.

A. and I hit the beach early, stake our claim to a plot of sand near the swings, stretch our bikini-clad bodies out, and pull out the paperbacks. After about twenty minutes of relative peace, a promising young skater clattered into view, removed his shirt, and flopped his muscular body six or seven feet away on a patch of hot sand.

We promptly ignored him.

After several minutes of covert glances in our direction, the tanning god spoke. "do you know what time it is?" he asked.

We cocked our heads in his direction. He conspicuously shoved a cell phone underneath his shirt. I rolled my eyes to the left, where a decisively correct clock tower read 11:15.
"Original." I muttered as A. humored him, flipping open her cell phone and replying, "11:15."

"Thanks." a pause. "Are you guys on summer break?" we sighed and closed our books.

"Yes."

"Oh." another pause. "Are you reading?" smart lad. We stared at him blankly. He tried again. "Why are you reading?"

"Because we like to." he looked incredulous.

"Dorks!" We gave him wan smiles before returning our eyes to our novels. Apparently, however, he realized too late that insulting his victims was hardly the way to flirt and get results. "I'm just kidding! I read too."

I almost laughed. My head howled, "You want a trophy?" A. grinned and I could see her clapping her hands silently.

The tanning god gave up. After a few more minutes of switching poses and our consistent disinterest, he pulled his shirt back on, tripped over his drooping pants (giving us a clear view of some rather unattractive underwear), and rode away - only to return minutes later to dig his hurriedly buried cell phone out of the sand.

The exhibition of brilliance thrilled me.