It’s like my clothes have a mind of their own. I see a hot guy…next thing I know…my clothes are off.
A gift some might say….a curse…said by many, many more.
Now usually I’d totally say this brilliant feat is a gift (that I should cherish until my boobs start to sag), unless I’m on an interview…like I was last week.
The interview is going well, great I might say (it’s an unpaid internship, those bitches always love me). I’m getting the general tour of the media company. Which is pretty much my mecca, hot guys in skinny jeans and glasses and I’m pretty much jizzing all over the office (…don’t worry I brought napkins).
“I want you to meet…”
My jaw drops. I’m drooling. I’m motioning with my hand many dirty motions I would like to perform to his man junk.
I’m losing it. Smiling for no reason, smirking every time he does something quirky with his face. I’m pretty sure I winked at him too… I don’t want to talk about it.
I’m singing, yes, singing. Well okay, I’m techinally singing in my head. I’m singing a little jingle that I wrote a fortnight ago…a jingle that I’m pretty known for if I’m being honest with you…
“I want to have sex with you…I want to have sex with…sex with you I want to have…sex sex sex…yeah!”
I know. I know. No applause needed. I’ve been called the songbird of my generation. (Name that movie).
I can’t tell if it’s cause of his red slip on Vans, or the fact that he seems to have very…very… nimble fingers.
And then it happens.
My bra unhooks.
Pop!
He smiles.
My button down shirt starts unbuttoning.
Pop!
He laughs at my retarded joke.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
All this sexual tension happening in a matter of seconds, concealed neatly under my leather jacket.
Fuck. My leather jacket.
Do I looked flushed? Will they ask me to take my jacket off? Of course they will, my face is beet red from the heat/sexual fantasies/my lack of Taco Bell intake in the past 48 hours.
Look, really cool social media girl interviewing me, who is going to judge me immediately once you realize I’m naked under my jacket, I just wanted to have sex with the guy. Okay?! Is that okay with you, you judgemental whore, you?!?
What? My shirt? What the fuck is wrong with my shirt? Nothing! You whore. Yeah that’s right you’re the whore for keeping your shirt all neat and buttoned-up.
It’s opposite day, mother fucker. Suck on that…bitch.
Wait… no…don’t go…I’m really cool…I promise…I interned at Atlantic Records!!!! I only hooked up with one guy there…I’ll keep it in my pants…I swear to God!
Fine…whatever…this place is lame anyway…fuck you…I love you…
I start in January…that boy will be mine…my bra will make sure of it.
