Passionate Book Divas
The Curse of Being A Beautiful Man
The other day I went into a Panera Bread and ordered a turkey breast sandwich, an apple, and bottled water. As I sat down to enjoy this hearty yet healthy meal, one of the Panera Bread employees walked over to me, leaned over, and said, “The young lady over there wanted you to have this,” and then placed a bag of baked potato chips on my tray.
I looked at the young lady in question, smiled, and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Many of you may think this sort of thing would be really cool and sweet. But in my world, this happens all the time and it makes me feel like a piece of meat. Besides, what if I didn’t want a bag of chips? I was trying to be healthy, after all. A fruit cup would have been more appropriate.
I’m just sayin’.
My male beauty is something that’s with me wherever I go. When I go for a night out with my friends, I’ll often have bartenders deliver gifts of Boones Farm and Mad Dog 20/20 to my table, not just from attractive women, but from men as well who’ve also fallen victim to my god-like physique and the intense gravity of my irresistible pheromones.
After a time, it makes me feel like a piece of grade-A beef tossed into a pit of humans starved for a juicy, sexually-charged tenderloin.
I’ve tried hiding my thick mane of Pantene-perfect hair with a ball cap. Wearing sunglasses to hide my large soulful eyes. A bandana to hide my chiseled nose, square jaw, and the manly 5 o’clock shadow that women love to rub their soft cheeks against. But my pheromones are something I can’t hide, and they give me away every time.
The protagonist in my upcoming novel, Sweet Blood of Mine, has to deal with similar sexual super powers, except he’s a hopeless romantic.
And me? Well, I take all the free bags of potato chips I can get.
Why? Because I’m worth it.