There's a girl at work who has all the men drooling all over themselves. She's a tiny, petite girl with a spray-on tan who dresses like an extra from an Aerosmith video in 1987. I originally remarked that she looked like an extra from a Cinderella video in 1987, but my boss said I was wrong because the girls in Cinderella videos were too trashy and kind of gross. My boss really, really likes this girl.
According to my boss and my co-worker, tiny girls are more attractive because a man wants a woman he can lift up and toss around. It must be some kind of innate urge going back to caveman days; a kind of ancestral race-memory with roots in the need to be able to pick up one's woman and flee an oncoming dinosaur or a spewing volcano.
I referred to the girl, whose nickname keeps changing (from "Orangina" to "Tropicana" to "Object,") as my boss' "lady love." I was duly corrected.
"I'm not in love with her. I just want to show her how a demon fucks." Then he mimed what that would look like, complete with devil horn hand gesture. I think most women probably would have taken great offense to this, but I laughed so hard I snarfed my diet Coke. This goes a long way to explain why I'm just one of the guys, and also adds tremendously to my dude cred.
The outfits old Tropicana wears to the office are often less-than appropriate. One of my tasks as the resident good-old-boy/gal of the department is that when this girl is in the hallway or some other common area of the office, I have to sound the alarm. Mostly this is just me running in the door yelling "OBJECT!" I do this regardless of what she's wearing, but some days' outfits require a little more urgency.
One day there was a schoolgirl outfit that had the whole office talking; the men were beside themselves, giddy with lust and ogling at her as often as possible. The women were angry. "Did you see that?" "Who would wear that to work?" "Her supervisor should send her home!"
"Man," says my boss, "you battle-axes better not start complaining and ruin this for me!"
These women were all jealous, although I doubt any of them would admit it. Most of the women in the office couldn't get such a get-up in their size, unless Lane Bryant has started a stripper collection, and even if they could it would look ludicrous. I'm thinking most of us would wear silly sexy stuff like she does if we could.
We had a discussion that day about whether or not this girl had any kind of online profile. Turns out she does, and now there's a half-nekkid "Glamour Shots"-type photo circulating around. The reactions are the same as the outfits: the men are chuffed, the women acting disgusted, clicking their tongues with righteous indignation and muttering about sluts.
I said to a couple of my broad friends that if I had stunning abs like this girl, I'd do the same thing.
"No you wouldn't," said one of them, "and if you did we'd call you names!"
"Yes, I would," I retorted, "and I'd call you jealous."
Who wouldn't want to command that kind of male attention, to wield that kind of power? It certainly must be something to experience, although I'd wager that many of the girls who look good enough to have that kind of effect aren't smart enough to realize it.
Another friend, after viewing the photo, said, "That's it. I'm going to do what I did in my teens, where I only ate once a day, subsisted on water, and I'm going to get down to a size 8." She admitted this is delusional, and said that even if she got thin and toned, she wouldn't post such a photo on the internet because it would scar her kids.
"Think about it-even if your mother were hot, you wouldn't want to see her nipples on the internet, would you?"
She may have a point, but if I had amazing abs I'd surely be tempted.