the two women exchanged the kind of glance women use when no knife is handy

I like to think that Hugh Hefner would be supremely jealous of me if only he knew the harem I was blessed with.

In fact, I know he would be.

Why?

Because my girlfriends are ridiculously hot. Fashion model, bikini model, artist’s model, pin up model HOT.

Seriously.

Whether by divine design or some accident of social stratum, I find myself constantly surrounded by women the likes of which make men swoon with a casual glance. And I love it.

Despite my best attempts to remain ignorant, I have become increasingly aware, in the work and play place, of the repercussions of such apparent hereditary bestowals, the implications of possessing tangible beauty.

Because while men tend to drink in the physical presence of an awesome woman, the fairer sex? Well, we eat attractive women alive.

Perhaps it’s our latent evolutionary urges unfurling on a modern stage, but the universal competition women of all creeds engage in with their genetic doppelgangers is seemingly without end.

But I’m tired.

Tired of backwards glances and snide remarks. Catty interactions and pointless rebuffs.  Tired by the need to seek out the double meaning of every remark uttered by a female foe.

So while sad examples of feckless femininity may be foisted upon me in passing workplace and flighty social interactions, after many years of near same-sex solidarity abstinence, I have, as of late, established a core group of awe inspiring women of an entirely fabulous nature.

And they’re all super hot.

And much like any other circular question, I’m unsure as to whether their virtuous natures are a product of their staggering physicality or if their beauty is some cosmic recompense for their tremendous character, but either way I’m utterly thankful to the ladies in my life who both restored my faith in womankind and assured my growth in to some facsimile of an adult.

Because teenage Katie?

Never would have been able to handle the hot.

Me minus 10 years would have been tortured daily by all my bestfriends’ splendor. Jealous? Resentful? Nearly lime with envy? All attributes I would have had no choice but to rock round the unforgiving halls of high school. And that’s fine.

In high school.

But still, half a decade removed from prefrosh, there are those that will tear you down to build themselves up, make you cry to make themselves smile, belittle you as they befriend you, make you feel less so they can feel more.

I am not one of those people.

And for that, I have no one to thank more than the gaggle of gorgeous girls that made me see their beauty as a compliment to my own.

And happy ending-esque adult Katie?

Wants nothing more than for these Aphrodites to be bubbly-soda pop and unicorns happy- regardless of the fact that they look like Megan Fox in a bikini.

job of the day: dr. christmas jones, nuclear physicist and playboy centerfold

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~ by rubylocks on February 1, 2010.

2 Responses to “the two women exchanged the kind of glance women use when no knife is handy”

  1. Another hard punch in the face from Ruby.

    Awesome post!

  2. you are MY hot best friend.

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