Sunday, May 23, 2004

Breakfast Cereal Guy.

There is a guy at work, I call him Breakfast Cereal Guy. I don't know why I gave him that name, I just took one look at him and thought he looked like Breakfast. I do that a lot, give people nicknames. Anyway, BCG is adorable. He's small, got buns-0-steel, cutest hair (those highlights that look painted on) and a soul patch. He is quite literally cute as a button.

So BCG walks by one night and I let out this slurping sound. Quite lecherous, and someone says, "You think he is cute?" and procedes to try and tell me about him.

"WHOA! HOLD UP SISTER!" I stick my fingers in my ears, "LA LA LA!" I don't want to know about him, I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to know he can even speak. BCG is eye candy. As long as he stays eye candy, he is perfect. I enjoy looking at him, that's it. Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good scene with information?

She looks at me like I have two heads. What is so hard to understand? It's like watching a scene of the ocean crashing on the shore. Pretty, relaxing, but you don't have to know how to swim or even like swimming. There are sharks and most likely pollution, but I don't have to know about it, right? It is a pleasant scene, period.

I don't want to know his name, or where he lives, or who he dates. I would never date him, pretty boys don't do it for me. But I enjoy the scenery. I think puppies are cute too, but they piss on the floor and whine all night. I just know that if I spoke to BCG he would say something, therefore shattering the illusion of perfection.

No matter how cute he is, there is someone out there who has to put up with his farting and burping.

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