Internal Come'on Monologue

Hey there cute boy sitting in the same coffee shop as me. You are cute. Do you think I'm cute? Do think the way I run my fingers through my hair is hot? The way my fingers stop at the top of my scalp and scratch? It's so animal of me. Grrr! How about the way I briskly take my hand from hair and inquistively examine my scalp in my finger nails. Yeah. Rrroar. And all the while I'm furiously writing in my journal. You like a multi-tasker like that? You know where else I multi-task? Uh huh, the library. Oh yeah, I'm a baby mamma--whatever that means but it sounds hot when I say it in my head. Ooo look. Now I'm drinking my hot apple cider and deliciously picking and prodding at the pores on my arm. That's right I'm not ashamed to bare my arms in public. You like that kind of confidence in a lady? a L. A.D.Y. Are you finding it hard to control the urge to come over and talk to me as I sexily stick my pointer finger in my ear and begin to dig? It's OK you can come over here. I don't bite. cuticles. And I don't stop a job until it's done. But you already know that. You've watched me for the last half hour continually tug at a chin hair until I finally ripped it from my person. Maybe we can get a drink sometime. We can sit at the bar as our hands tear the label off the beer bottles. Well mine will be a cider, but we can discuss that later. Yum.


Jesse said…
OK, I don't think I should be late to any more meetings at the cafe. I see the consequences, and I'll work on that.