Sexy ES (t)

Notice the awesomeness of the title. Sometimes my brilliance dazzles even me!

But, seriously, though: Turns out ES is receiving a bit of flack from people (by this, I mean the ones with excess skin flapping down front) because of the way she dresses.

She tries her best to look her best. I can vouch for this, because I witness the process every morning. It's important for and to her to do so.

Why?

Well, because surely everyone has the right to look good and feel confident about themselves, whether they're at home, at the office or at the mall. Hell, even if they're just taking out the garbage. It's one of those pesky things called a "human right" and it forms part of that other thing that I believe in: "equality".

And why don't I get all upset when someone decides to look a little longer than normal? Because it's your right to look wherever you want, however you want. In fact, I take your admiration as a vicarious compliment to me: that's why I don't take exception to that sort of thing. It fuels my ego and pride (because, being a man, I suffer from an excess of both those things).

Hell, I also look around chaps. Appreciating beauty is one thing.

Act on it, and all bets are off, though, motherfucker.

So when I'm told that okes want to know how "I let" ES go to work dressed like she does, the first thing that goes through my mind is a simple explaination for just about everything: I live in a house, not a cave.

Evolution's fucking awesome. Join the ride, Buddy, before that bus leaves town.

Then there's the other special breed: the one that sees a fucking rock of a diamond on a lady's hand and automatically thinks that unless he polishes the Bishop instantly, his head'll explode there and then: the skirt chaser.

There's just about nothing I can say except: "Get your own, dickhole." Or, what? You're so insecure that the only way you can land anything is to try and prey on feelings you hope have turned to the boredom of being "in a rut". That doesn't make you desirable. That makes you a human Nintendo Wii.

And then, to crown it all off, you decide to blame your infatuation on the object of your infatuation?

"It's because she dressed too well. I couldn't help myself." Keep at it. Maybe you too could become a presidential candidate.

In a perfect world, that sort of behaviour would result in being gang-raped by Panda bears. Because there'd be justice. And more Panda bears.

And, just to clear the air on one thing here, when I say she dresses to look her best, I don't mean she drapes her tits out for the world to goggle at, or even bares her midrift. She's no whore: she's class.

Of course, unwrapping that gift is a privilege unto me. So screw you guys.