They have plenty of things that the wife can have without causing any of her food issues to flare up. So we go in, do a little shopping, and as we're going up and down the isles, I see a girl.
Black yoga pants so darn tight that each ass-cheek moved independently. Purple crop top, black bra, and just a flat out rockin' body Had I been my young, foolish self I would have been drooling. But me being my older self, I looked at her face.
Full make-up, to include fake eyelashes. Foundation, blush, eyeliner, the works. And a French braid to boot.
The woman who puts on an entire face of make-up, and then dresses in clothing that leaves little to the imagination while shopping at Trader Joe's has got too many issues to even contemplate. I don't care how rockin' that body was. I wouldn't dip my wick in that for love or money.
No matter how good a woman looks, there's some guy out there who's sick of her shit. And I'm willing to bet that girl has a trail of men who are sick of her.
2 comments:
-- No matter how good a woman looks, there's some guy out there who's sick of her shit. --
Truer words were never spoken...but let's include a codicil: There is no long-term relationship so completely harmonious and satisfying that the partners don't occasionally "survey the competition." It's part of the reason we developed eyes.
Oh, I looked. But for me to truly survey the competition, I'd have to see how she cooked. And I'm willing to bet that she's a "boxed, bagged, canned and frozen" kinda girl. And my wife is a chef.
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