I’ve realised that I am to be condemned, until the end of my days, to be what’s considered as “cute.” Not, mind you, as handsome, rugged, good-looking, to swoon/die for, Vin-Diesel-shaved-head-take-me-now-you-hunka-hunka-burning-pecs kinda guy. No, I’m cute. Granted, if I’m hungry or thirsty and want someone to buy me drinks or food, no problem. If I want to be viewed as someone who will ensure a night of hot monkey-loving sex, well, that’s just so darned cute (but highly unlikely).
I just handed in a document that I was only given a week to research and write and coordinate images for, hand it off to the product manager who looks at it and says, “Wow, this is so cute!” I can’t win. I imagine the day, when I’m old in the nursing home, forced to a wheelchair, surreptitiously lifting the skirts of nurses and female visitors with my cane, they’ll turn around, see me and say, “Oh, isn’t he cute!”
posted by Michel @ 5:21 PM
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