Find My Shoes
At some point, we all (hopefully) learn to discriminate between the good and the bad. Men, that is. It’s not simply about earning capacity or looks or size (that, my friends, is a post all its own). No; it is about the shoes. And, when I say “shoes,” I am using shoes as a metaphor for “selfish as shit”. But, for you to understand, I need to tell this story from my friend “Sparrow” as an allegory:
Once upon a time, there was a woman named Sparrow who was lucky enough to snag a really handsome hunk, “Don”. Now, Sparrow was quite a looker herself, but Don was a real catch and she knew it. So, when he suggested a romantic evening in the front seat of his car, she was all for it ( this was back in the day when “hooking up” was called “parking”).
Clothes came undone and they were (somewhat) skin to skin when a police officer pulled up behind them (to get his cheap thrills, no doubt, by shining a flashlight on the not-so-concealed sweethearts). As usual in a situation such as this, she was much more exposed. So, how did this Lothario react? Did he throw her blouse to her or try to otherwise help her cover her exposed bosom?
Oh no. His reaction was “Find my shoes” because, as we all know, being found parking on a dark night in a secluded area without your shoes on could have ruined his future! Find my shoes! Not, “Take my tie” or “Oh, shit, your boobs are showing.” No, no. “Find my shoes.”
Sparrow knew then that Don was a selfish prick, and she dropped him like a hot potato. Then, she found a guy who, in the same situation, rushed to hand her a jacket to cover up with, and they lived happily ever after.
The moral? Make sure your guy cares more about your dignity than his grooming.
Or, don’t undress in the car.