Thursday, April 14, 2005

Is it cold in here, or are you smuggling a pair of skittles?

But it's not what you think (it never is with me, is it?)

Many people in my office are health conscious - and by health conscious, I mean exercise freaks - and, unfortunately, somewhere after a guy turns 40 and becomes an exercise freak, he starts buying those tight, tight t-shirts - and if said guy works in my office, he wears those shirts to work with a pair of dress pants.

This afternoon, I found myself in my cubicle having a conversation with two such gentlemen and, for the life of me, I can't tell you what the conversation was about - all I can tell you is that if there was a contest for nipple hardness, they would have tied for first place - and, no matter how hard I tried, I COULDN'T. STOP. STARING. It wasn't sexy, or stimulating or even all that amusing (at the time) - it just made me feel drrrrty - yeah, not just dirty, it made me feel drrrrty, like one of those days when you're bloated and zitty and some total skeevoid guy checks you out anyway - just ew.