Tuesday, December 28, 2004

An Open Letter to the Men of SoHo

To the many men I pass each day walking to and from my office,

I'll readily admit that I don't know much about genetics or statistics; my grasp of science as a discipline is weak, at best. Despite my lack of expertise, I am fairly sure that something is awry in Lower Manhattan. I don't know whether it's a demographic, geographic, magnetic, geological, psychological, physiological, or evolutionary anomaly, but I'm positive that so many of you should not be so attractive.

Allow me to introduce myself. I'm that girl with the kind of dingy white coat (it's from newsprint, not vagrancy), semi-grown-out curly hair, and black glasses that say "Look, I'm an intellectual, I don't need an active love life." You may not have noticed me, but I am keeping a running tally of you.

As such, I have a series of proposals up for negotiation. They are as follows:

A. Project Make-Out: A full-scale attack my lack of making out with attractive men, wherein you, one of the many attractive men in this neighborhood, approaches me on the street for approximately a minute of quality face time. The one minute time limit has been placed in effect for a number of reasons, the most significant of which include prior work engagements, MetroNorth schedules, and availibility of my person to several make-out partners on a single walk to the 6 train.

B. To ensure that I am only engaged in consensual making out, I have instituted the following protocol. You, the attractive man, will approach me, and say the make-out code word Yawanna?. If indeed I do wanna, I will respond with the the code word Sweeeeeeet, and making out will ensue. If I do not want to make out, the code word will be No go, HoJo, after which we will salute each other and proceed in seperate directions.

C. If you are an attractive man who (for some strange, idiotic reason) opts not to take part in Project Make-Out, you, of course, have the right to do so. However,

D. Any attractive man not taking part in Project Make-Out must wear a rubber mask of President George Bush (the first) while in my presence. Regrettably, masks cannot be provided and must be procured at the wearer's expense.

E. Any and all attractive men opting out of Project Make-Out with the audacity to have a sexy, non-Bronx accent must remain mute until I am out of earshot. That goes double for you, Mr. Italian-Guy-With-The-Really-Cool-Jeans-Standing-On-Broadway-Yesterday-At-Around-Four-Fifteen-In-The-Afternoon-Who-Was-Talking-To-His-Friend-In-His-Incredibly-Hot-Italian-Accent.

Hormonally yours,


Anonymous Anonymous said...

You've outdone yourself Kathy. It's always a pleasure to read what you have written. BTW's mom

4:26 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

moooooooom, you're EMBARRASSING ME.

5:03 PM  
Blogger Buckley said...

Once in a while something such as this comes along, and one is so lost for words in the face of its greatness (if greatness ideed has a face), one just has to borrow one from the author to express such extatic approval: SWEEEEEEEET!

7:19 PM  

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