Ass Hands

So, I am one of those women that are really attracted to “manly” men. The kind that are a little rough around the edges, aren’t afraid to get a little dirty, like to grill, mow the lawn and beat their chests and grunt like a cave man. Granted, I will kick some ass if the cave man mentality for them means dragging me by my hair. That doesn’t work for me. Sorry Bud!
My latest adventure deemed blog worthy simply because of this one quality that I find is most important to me and I am assuming the majority of women in general. I mean let’s face it, no woman wants to be with someone who is more feminine than them. They don’t want to be the one that kills the roach, the one that spends more time in the mirror than they do or MOST importantly they certainly don’t want to be the one that has softer hands than them. That’s what did it for me…he had ass hands.

Now I met ass hands on-line, go figure. The communication back and forth was great. We had things in common, he was really funny , my age (I always seem to get ones that are 7-8 years younger or are 15-20 years older and I will expand on this later), had a job, a car and he had the same taste in music. So, by all accounts, this guy was a catch. He was also pretty handsome (in pictures anyway)! So, when I finally got the official “How would you like to meet for drinks this weekend?” question, I of course said yes! This was absolutely new outfit and jewelry worthy. I found the outfit, jewelry and already had the perfect shoes to go with said outfit. I gave myself ample time to get ready, curled my hair or what I call put my stripper curls in, awesome make-up job, you name it….I was ready to go!

Based on the pictures, I knew who I had to find. I had this vision in my head that went something like this….I would walk in to the restaurant, as I opened the door, the wind would pick up slightly just enough to make my curled hair move. Our eyes would meet and for a moment, time would stand still so we could take in each other and that instant chemistry would immediately hit the both of us. Slowly we would come out of that daze and I would sashay’ my way to the bar where he stood up and took my hand into his still unable to take his eyes off of me….from there it was just as spectacular. But you get the idea.

Totally didn’t happen. I walked in and the first thing I noticed were his acid wash jeans. Then the tennis shoes and a button down shirt tucked in to his pants with a belt and a cell phone case the size of Texas attached to his belt. That moment that I had just envisioned didn’t come to fruition. Bummer…But, there is always hope. A man CAN be “persuaded” to change the attire to suit your own desires. So I had to give it a shot. Conversation was going great until he wanted to give a high five. Ummm…okay. Sure, I will totally give you a high five on our first date…at a bar…where people are…and I am 35 and you are 36…and this is awkward. Now, please don’t think I am a prude or anything. I give out all kinds of high fives…to friends. Not my initial dates. He gave me a high five because we had that whole we always seem to get the much older people that are interested in us type of thing. Which I guess he thought was high five worthy. So, I didn’t leave him hanging, I did high five him and for whatever reason, he cupped my hand and held it for a minute. Even more awkward. My immediate reaction was something like this…Holy crap, this guys hands are softer than mine. They are all lotioned up, cold clammy and it feels like I am being held by a woman or they are as soft as the skin on my ass (you know you’ve felt the skin on your ass and thought how soft it is). I vomited in my mouth a little. Seriously, I did. I had to pull out of that cupped hand awkwardness. I wanted to pull him outside and take his hands and rub them on the asphalt outside to rough it up a little bit or place it on a belt sander (of which I didn’t have because I brought my clutch and not my luggage sized purse which I normally have everything in, including a belt sander). Ass hands has moved on, as have I.

What can I say? I like ‘em rough and tough! Beat your chest and grunt like a gorilla but for the love of God, please don’t ever have hands softer than mine.

With love,

Sheri