Pictures are funny things. It so often that a photo you see at the outset is the best photo that person has ever taken in his entire life and you know that because the succeeding photos are like someone else. Sometimes literally are. It’s fair game, putting your best foot forward, but also fair game including some back up info. The smooth guy in the baseball cap with nifty aviator glasses is a bald man with sad droopy dog eyes. The guy in the tuxedo forgets to make mention that the cummerbund is pulled tight like a corset holding in beer gut carefully crafted from local brews over many a year. So it pays to look at all the photos if there is more than one. If not, it pays to ask why.
So one needs to steel oneself for whatever walks through the door and it’s not usually that best photo. Sometimes it’s not even the worst photo it’s something worse beyond THAT so over the years one develops a good sense of humor and small amount of prayer. I remember one New Year’s Eve waiting for a blond guy who’s picture only I had seen and in the movie lobby was a blond guy with a pocket protector and let’s just say he reminded me of one of the guys on the reject couch in Animal House and I thought, dear god, it’s New Years, please don’t screw with me tonight. Fortunately he didn’t. Yet there have been those times when you think, gosh, really? But you’re there and you go through with it because hurting someone’s feelings doesn’t trump rude. Point is, you never know until it’s too late.
Every once in a while in walks Mr. Looks Just Like his image and once in a really blue moon even better than and you think, maybe there IS a god or at least a Santa and your heart skips a small beat of joy and incredulity. While that’s not to say that makes it all good, it just makes it less painful to look at.
I’ve gone out with a couple of models, both recently and in my youth. I’m always kind of shocked that someone that good looking would want to go out with me, but taste knows no logic. I’ve found them, in my small sampling, to be rather boring – conversations that run along “so that’s enough about me, tell me, what do you think about me” kind of thing. Still because I’m shallow and perhaps hope springs eternal, I once was meeting a model and as I waited on the street corner I pulled out my little mirror to check that I hadn’t developed any new crows feet in the last hour.There staring back at me was this hair from hell on my upper lip. This hair has been nuked, waxed, electrolysised, yelled at and otherwise tortured to the point that I thought I would donate it to the US Military to drop as a secret weapon on North Korea because literally it would continue to grow and take over the country – it was indestructible. To call it a hair would be generous. It was there, on my lip, like a wart hog tusk. Think Pumba in the Lion King. Fortunately I was in New York, where we complain about the ubiquity of Duane Reades and CVSes on every block but when you need them, boy, to look up and find one across the street it’s like a water fountain in an oasis. So I madly dashed in and bought a little scissors and stood in the lobby trimming my external fang because god forbid I got caught doing that on the street. He turned up, very good looking, I was newly shaven but alas….it was not to be. He was just not the sharpest knife in the cheese cutting knife drawer so we had to part ways. But at least it wasn’t because he mistook me for the bearded lady. Of that I can be sure.
So back to my story. It’s actually not my story. This is an “as told to me by …. “
So this friend of mine awaits a guy in a bar. In he walks, super good looking. Tall, square jaw, the whole 9 yards. Lovely. She practically wets herself with joy. They say a woman takes only 3 minutes to decide if she’s going to sleep with a guy. A man takes 5 seconds. Inside her little heart is jumping with joy. Oh boy! So they’re chatting, something seems a little off but she’s thinking, it’s ok, he’s so good looking, I can do this anyway. Then he takes out his phone to show her pictures of his kids. While scrolling through he stops at one and shows her a picture of his ass.
Now some guys think it’s cute to send pictures of their dicks and I have a news flash for you. Size might be impressive but really if you’ve seen one you’ve basically seen them all. They’re not like tits which vary greatly in shape, hang, and of course size. Gay men, some, like a cock shot but most women I know, it’s just not impressive, again, barring the occasional “What the hell would I do with all THAT?!!” Ass shots, they can be artistic, from the side, in a tight pair of jeans even. But this guy he wasn’t showing her porn or art. He was giving her a medical lesson. These are my hemorrhoids.
Let it sink in.
Not to be obvious but there are a few things which pop into one’s head at this moment.
First: why would someone carry around a picture of their hemorrhoids on their phone? It’s not a fun malady. It’s certainly not a pretty malady. It begs the question of what are those doing there, on your phone?
Secondly: if you did have nostalgia for bulging veins in your butt why would you think someone on a first date would be interested in seeing them? I mean it’s nice to honest and upfront and then there’s a little thing called TOO MUCH INFORMATION!!! Did you bring along your discarded ear wax too? (You know, there are certain jokes you learn not to actually say out loud for fear that …. like on Let’s Make A Deal… it is actually produced from a side pocket.)
And thirdly, and I’m sorry because this is SO obvious but I have to ask: If you’re using both hand to spread your, uhm, cheeks, then who in the name of the Almighty is actually TAKING the picture?
And what does one say to that? Wow, those are really big and bloody? Or, Oh yes, I have a friend with a similar photo hanging in her bathroom. Or, have you contacted Robert Maplethorpe about using them?
But she thought, well gee, he’s just so good looking, do I have to let this be a deal breaker? Ok, so I won’t marry him but is it still ok to take him home? Just for a night? Please, can you give me just this for once?
But they moved on to his other pictures. Here’s one of my son. His face. Thank god for small favors the kid was only a teenager, not old enough for hemorrhoids and luckily not an athlete who’d had arthroscopy or anything.
“Nice looking kid” she says, yay, and kind of a no brainer.
At which point he launches into a story of driving with his son somewhere and they get into a fight and he has to pull off the side of the road and they get into a fist fight and he relays how he repeatedly had to punch this kid in the face.
Sometimes the best story is not the one that got away but the big one you caught and while it broke your heart, you just had to toss back in. Just had to because really there’s no way you can keep that puppy on board and bring him home. It’s also proof that there IS such a thing as too good [looking] to be true.
The fat bald guy with the droopy eyes gives the fist pump and you have to give it to him.