I wish I was a peacock. I could just flash my plumage and if the lovely lady peacocks (or are the females called peavaginas?) were interested, they would approach me. End of story. No buying drinks, no witty introductory remarks, no begging on hands and knees.

Alas, I am not a peacock. It is much worse; I am a single man. Approaching a woman is so brutal. I feel like I’m saying, “Hi. Based on this sentence and my appearance, do you want to spend your life with me or at least get sweaty together?” I hate it. One hardly has room to shine in that brief and contrived situation. I need a chance to grow on someone, after all, my 9th grade class DID elect me as “Best Personality”… which now that I think about it, isn’t that how they refer to nice people who are ugly? Oh man. Well, at least I didn’t win “Most Big-Boned”.

I see woman get swarmed by men at clubs like high school kids around a marijuana-filled pinata. I need a way to introduce myself that doesn’t scream, “I’m exactly like every guy that just introduced themselves to your breasts.”

My solution is simple: Resumes. Seriously, a basic relationship resume with past girlfriends or boyfriends listed (or both…lucky bisexuals, so many to choose from) would suffice. This way, a little research into my past (including letters of recommendations from former girlfriends) and you have a much better picture of me than my astrological sign. (By the way, I’m a Gemini… but I’m hung like a Taurus.) We’d fill out some simple forms and *POW*, love is on its way. But I don’t want to ruffle any feathers… Get it? "Feathers"? ‘Cause of the plumage reference at the beginning… get it? Sigh.

other tales by Kaya
"Having a Blast"
Teen Sex Flicks
Banana Lessons

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