Here's a real shocker: my daily commute is spent sizing up hot guys. Okay, maybe that doesn't really come as no shock to you. I would give you the excuse that at 8 am I'm pretty one-track minded, but no, it's anytime I'm outside of the office. I mean, really where else am I going to get my daily dose of eye candy (sigh, for two months last summer I had it sitting right next to me).
Unfortunately I haven't really had a lot to work with lately (slash is every eligible guy I see married? Pretty sure yes).
But there was this one guy. A taller, cuter version of The BFF's Harvard Boy Toy. (Although considering there's only one of him, I will say they're a tie.)
Every few days for the past month I've seen Preppy McPerfect. Swoon. Perhaps one day we'd finally speak, fall in love, pick out wedding china, etc.
The dream was alive!
Until this week. When I got in the same subway car as him and his friend, King of the Douches. Picture a WASPY-er version of Scott Disick. Directly out of that damn Hilfiger Family commercial, except of course not wearing Hilfiger.
"Oh man, we went skiing in Vermont this weekend. The caretaker of the house said he'd never seen the property disrespected so bad in the 30 years he's been there."
"What are you doing this weekend? Oh a wedding, what chick are you taking? The girl who texted you like a thousand times that night? Guess that means she's good at something."
And on and on it went. I'm clearly I am not allowed to judge douchey, drunken behavior like I've never been a part of it, but c'mon. The subway is not Tucker Max Story Hour.
He might have fit my Shallow Requirements, but that is definitely not what I'm looking for.
Unless of course he wants me to be his next wedding date. Because at least we'd have some beautiful pics for Facebook.
(The BFF and I both agree that the subway really - especially when it's crowded during commutes - is never a place for conversation. No one wants to hear your damn stories. Well, except mine, obvs.)
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