Being Creepy for All Womankind. Or: How to Talk to a Hot Guy at Barceloneta Beach
Summer and fall are at war in Barcelona. Summer is still holding on, so I went to the beach today to enjoy it before it fades away.
I spread out my towel, sat down, looked toward the sea…and spotted the hottest man in the history of mankind taking a swim.
I’m pretty sure my eyes popped out of my skull and my jaw hit the floor.
I stared at him for twenty minutes, doing an excellent impression of a cartoon character.
Finally, I decided he must be a mirage.
This cannot real. It is not physically possible for a person to be this attractive. It must be the distance. Anyone can look good from far away.
I realized that I had to investigate. But not for me.
For all womankind.
Because at this point, I had text every girl friend I had.
Because I mean, really…what are cell phones for??
So, for women everywhere, I put on my sleuth hat, gathered my towel and made my way towards Adonis.
He hadn’t seen me at this point, so moving closer to him was totally legit.
Except if you take into account how motherfuckingcreepy this whole thing makes me sound.
I mean, at this point, I’m actively stalking the guy.
The things I do for womankind.
I tread carefully across the sand. And the closer I got, the more confused I became.
My theory seemed to be working in reverse.
He was not getting less hot as I got closer.
He was getting hotter.
By the time I set my towel down next to him, I felt like I was sitting next to the sun.
My girlfriends were texting me, demanding that I take a photo.
I mean, once you’ve hit a certain level of creepy, there’s really no going back.
I wish I could tell you that this is the creepiest thing I’ve ever done, but let’s be honest. We all know that’s not true.
Mainly: what the hell do I say???But now I had bigger problems.
I ran through the options in my head:
- “Hi, I want to lick your face.”
- “Hi, I want to give you the best night I’ve ever had.”
- “Hi, I want you to tuck me into bed like a tiny burrito.”
Three very solid options.
Ultimately, the one I went with was:
“Would you like me to watch your stuff while you go for a swim?”
And very sexy.
By some divine miracle, we started chatting. We talked about:
- Water pollution
We are clearly soul mates.
To be honest, I missed most of what he said. I was a little bit distracted by the dark, manly beard…
…is it hot in here?…
…the piercing blue eyes…
…and the perfectly kept man-bun.
…what do I do with my hands? What the hell do I do with my hands?!?
He could have the personality of toast for all I know.
But I kinda doubt it.
He’s from Switzerland and I’m 99% sure that the Swiss gov does not let its people travel past the boarder without confirming that they are genetically superior in all ways.
By this point in the conversation, I was incredibly proud of myself.
First of all, I had been brave…or creepy, depending on your point of view…to walk over to him.
And second of all, I had not tripped over my own two feet.
It probably helped that I was sitting.
But when he asked for my phone number, I broke both of those accomplishments by stuttering incoherently and fumbling for my phone.
Now that I think about it, it’s actually pretty impressive that I had to fumble for something that was already in my hand.
We exchanged numbers. The jury’s still out on whether he’ll call.
Feel free to place your bets.
I already marked myself down for 20/80 odds with a bookie on my way home from the beach.
If he calls, I’ll answer.
But not for me.
Not for me.