Wait. Are You Hitting On Me?

I’ll be perfectly honest; I have no head for innuendo. Outside of being a terrific actor, I’d make a terrible spy. Double-meanings, inference and subtlety are like foreign languages to me. More like alien words, because no amount of pantomime or body language (lingua frankly) is going to get the point across.
My social retardation (or is it retardance?) probably isn’t a total aberration. I’m guessing lots of dudes (and probably a few chicks) are deaf, dumb, blind kids when it comes to romantic intrigue. Are we missing an enzyme? Are we sort of autistic? Should we be counting cards in some Vegas casino with Tom Cruise and sweating Wapner’s start time?

And it’s not like we can’t see it in other people. We’re Johnny On The Spot when that gal with the Kate Gosselin hairdon’t is eye-farking our boy Jake (if you met Jake, you’d know why). But that same, “damn, I want to see what you got in them dungarees” look followed by a slow, non-casual hair flip is totally lost on us (me) when directed our (my) way. Read more


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