Dear guy in a pickup truck who thinks my name is sweet cheeks and can’tkeep his hands off the horn when passing,
I have a confession to make: I am in love you! And not in that awkward insecure prepubescent and bored in class kinda way were me and my friends recount every guy whose head we turned on the way to school that morning thus confirming yes, men realize we are “Chicks” –cool!
No honey I am an all-growed-up kinda in love with you and falling head
over feet, I mean who wouldn’t?
Everything from the pin up rubber mud flaps to the Walmart brand gun rack and the “Don;t mess with Texas” bumper sticker tell me you are a sensitive guy!
I’m sure you’d take things slow, minute’s even, building intimacy
through self-reflection conversation, and compromise before you’d
finally want to take our relationship to the next level.
Of course it may be hard considering you still live with your mom…
Did I mention I can tell your 40? But that’s okay.
Once I see your thoughtfully decorated room, adorned with black-light animae
posters, a centerpiece bong collection, and a bud light stained leopard print
beanbag that doubles as a couch and a bed.
I wont be able to resist! How freaking Ikea of you!
We could seriously be talking life-long commitment here!
And I know I shouldn’t be making such untasteful advances toward you.
But Mr. Flatbed with a mullet sticking out of a dirt-stained hat,
please take my love into consideration. I know we just met at the
last stop sign, but I really think we made a connection there buddy.
You’re the kind of guy who asks, “hey baby need a ride” with out even
knowing my name! How thoughtful. Now there’s a guy I can take home to
mom.
Really? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do with my time then give
up my career and dignity to become your personal stick shift
lubricator. I’d plant myself permanently between the break and clutch.
I want you to be able to ogle my “Nice titts” all friggen daylong!
So my little, I mean big, truck man if I have overstepped any awkward
boundaries, please feel free to ignore this declaration of love. I
know it seems forward being that you were probably on your way to work
minding your own damn business and I wouldn’t want to make you
uncomfortable in any way.
Once I see your thoughtfully decorated room, adorned with black-light animae
posters, a centerpiece bong collection, and a bud light stained leopard print
beanbag that doubles as a couch and a bed.
I wont be able to resist! How freaking Ikea of you!
We could seriously be talking life-long commitment here!
And I know I shouldn’t be making such untasteful advances toward you.
But Mr. Flatbed with a mullet sticking out of a dirt-stained hat,
please take my love into consideration. I know we just met at the
last stop sign, but I really think we made a connection there buddy.
You’re the kind of guy who asks, “hey baby need a ride” with out even
knowing my name! How thoughtful. Now there’s a guy I can take home to
mom.
Really? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do with my time then give
up my career and dignity to become your personal stick shift
lubricator. I’d plant myself permanently between the break and clutch.
I want you to be able to ogle my “Nice titts” all friggen daylong!
So my little, I mean big, truck man if I have overstepped any awkward
boundaries, please feel free to ignore this declaration of love. I
know it seems forward being that you were probably on your way to work
minding your own damn business and I wouldn’t want to make you
uncomfortable in any way.
But baby, you had me before hello, a honk was all it took.
