When I walk in a room, men see me as a threat. Rightfully so... their women see me too. Of my woman, I expect an inverse effect... the heat - of immediate femenine hatred and male lust - thrust upon her.
I see it all the time, a seeming brightness to the room as if suddenly a light has been cast upon my conciousness.
She's here.
It is an undeniable shift in existence. My mind is captivated, my knowledge of social propriety and tact abolished by her heels, her hair, her smile. I stare.
When I catch myself I stop, hopefully soon enough... nothing but emergency or death will stand between this moment and our first conversation. What guy that walked in with you? Didn't see him.
As I plan my move, read you from afar, I further confirm that which I suspected. You are poised, engaging and funny. You intimidate boys and captivate men. Women admire your style, your figure and your intellect and, thereby, loathe you.
You take the dance floor with confidence. Your rhythm begs for my lead, your movements regulate my breathing.
Although I am enjoying my evening, talking to a beautiful woman in hopes that you will notice her laughter, I am involuntarily aware of you. You are at the bar. The time is now. As automatic as blinking, so is my knowledge of your movements about the room... I didn't realize I was doing it until I thought about it. Planning in my mind the perfect approach, knowing it will be anything but, I finally decide to act.
As I walk over to you I wonder, "Is she my eight out of ten?"
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