Cock-a-doodle-doo
I got over that metrosexual man thing more than a decade ago when I realized my husband used more hair products than I did. It wasn’t the ‘80s, after all. So when I met a man who said he was in touch with his inner lesbian and he’d come over and fix my furnace on our second date, I had to say yes.
He showed up sporting a thrift store chic workman shirt with a “Todd” name patch and “Greco Heating and Air Conditioning” above his pocket. I giggled as he came in the door and hugged me. When he sat down on the sofa he squirmed around.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“You are probably sitting on one of my crazy pillows,” I answered.
He pulled out a stuffed rooster from his back pocket. “I could of brought you flowers, but I thought you’d like cock instead,” he said.
A sense of humor, good, but can he fix a furnace? No, but he spent 45 minutes trying, which is about how long my ex-husband used to spend in the bathroom doing his hair.
I’ll take cock any day.