The Dressing Room At Old Navy

The mannequin seemed so happy, so carefree in his plaid shirt and cargo shorts, forever about to throw a frisbee. That could be me, I thought. Maybe at my summer house on the lake, playing badminton or no wait something manlier like rugby, the manicured lawn cooling my feet which are normal sized, the kind of feet that don’t make people recoil. I am trim and effortless and I do not sunburn. I’m taking a few months off to just figure things out, you know? Just hang out at the lake, go for a swim without wearing a shirt, lay out, let my mind journey. In the evenings there are no mosquitoes and the stars spell out my name. I’m smooth with the waitress over at the brewpub and we have uncomplicated intercourse in a hammock—somehow—and it leaves us in a state of postcoital bliss which is totally standard for me because I never cry afterward because that would be weird.

Anyway I didn’t get the cargo shorts.

» Rating: ONE SEXY LADIES