I don’t really have a type — men are just plain sexy, especially when they’re approaching me with a smile. A funny, confident guy trying to get on my good side drives me wild. But if I look down at his hands and they’re all Busted McDirty, that’s my manscaping dealbreaker. Nails you are too lazy to cut, with dirt caked underneath and uneven breaks, don’t even try it, pal! I’m a germaphobe and you’re not gonna get your funky fingers all over me. Is that ridiculously shallow? Maybe. But you know I’m totes nail-obsessed. I cannot handle a man who can’t handle his hands. How’s he gonna care for me if his own digits don’t mean a thing to him?
Once, I was kinda bummed over a breakup, so my lady friend dragged me out dancing. We were shakin’ it, but my vibe was probably off and no dudes seemed to be coming my way. My buddy, on the other hand, was flirtin’ it up with a complete babe, so I headed to the bar to give them some space. Then, out of nowhere, I got hit on! I was super surprised when this guy started chatting me up at the bar. He had those smiley eyes I’m a total sucker for, and I couldn’t wait to get his booty on the dance floor. He seemed like a miracle of clubbing mercy, sent to cheer me the hell up!
But that’s when I saw it: the dingy hand of doom. He reached out to twirl me and I got a closer look. There was gunk, there was funk, and the potential to be scratched, ney, clawed by more than one hangnail. Ahhhhh! All I could think was, “I’m glad I always carry hand sanitizer, even in this party clutch.” Sure, I let him twirl me in the moment, but I excused myself as soon as we had finished rocking that Casbah.
Did I blow it with a potential Mr. Right? OK, I suppose there’s a slight chance I did, since I didn’t get to know him. But we all have our thing, no? So, buddy, let’s dish the dirt for real. I’m wondering: What is your absolute man-grooming demand?