Mr. Smithers

The other shirt looked a little tight on you.

Ok so it was a bit sneaky of me to try and squeeze four sausages in one tin can, but hey, so far the past few packages weren't satisfying.  Since the fickle-minded one backed out, at least I accomplished a trifecta with you;  well, not really a trifecta because you measured up.

To be honest, I was quite surprised with you, Mr. Smithers, because during our exchanges you weren't so open about yourself.  I mean, okay, you like watching reruns of Modern Family and so do I ... and then what?  There was no fire, no adjectival story-telling to catch my interest.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that you missed talking to me that day after we first met (on our phones).  It was nice to meet you, and your 'friend' too. 

I knew you're the quiet type, the kind of person who has so many restrictions on food (because of your condition) and cocksmanship (because of your strict no-backdoor policy).  But my was I surprised with you Mr. Smithers!  I'd say you are one of the more practised people I've met, and definitely one of the most hygienic.  (Of course I had to force you into taking a bath even if you had just come from a spa).

Truth be told, you are undeniably boring in person and I apologize for being blunt behind your back.  Like someone I've met a few times before, yours is also like water and it's not as enjoyable for Mr. Burns.  However, I would still douse the fire during a drought.  

On paper we should've been a match

Bird's Eye View

I was quite excited to be honest, to find that we had many things in common in terms of attitude and deal breakers.  You were accepting of my smoking habit and my being a night person, and my occasional need to be a-social.  I liked that you're physically active even if you don't look it physically, and that you are accomplished in your career and seem to be emotionally well-adjusted.

After just one day of talking, and that insidious short good night video you sent me, I must admit I wanted to see where all this could lead to.  I am not consciously looking for a relationship at the moment, but if the opportunity presents itself, why not take a chance?

So while I was busy staying awake and talking to the person who referred you to me, you surprise me with wanting to visit.  I don't think I've prepared a place that fast in a short period of time.  Luckily, you got lost getting here.  On second thought, maybe not so lucky.

Honestly, the videos and photos and the you in person aren't similar, but I think I'm nice enough to overlook that.  You were so stressed out and nervous, you didn't even finish the cup of water I gave you.  Half full?  Half empty?  Even when we cooled ourselves off in the room, you were still unrelaxed.  But still, I tried my best to have fun and help you warm up to me. 

You are a tender lover and want to please, but I can't understand why you would fake coming.  I feel you need more experience; you need to date more to come out of your shell.  Being a late bloomer myself, I understand your situation.  And unfortunately, we cannot be more than where we are.  I know I'm gonna feel guilty for agreeing to meet with you again, but perhaps I might have a way to of telling you this without sounding arrogant.

And also, maybe I haven't given you the chance to show you can do.  Perhaps when that comes, I'd see the stars instead of dimly-lit buildings.

Hogs

Hogging the Sheets

Apparently they come in all shapes and sizes. Some hogs are blatant and they advertise their lack of etiquette, which is fine because it's easier to ignore them and you can choose other plumper hogs who won't give you attitude.  Other hogs seem cuddly by the look of their photos; their smiles or furtive glances on their selfies make them appear innocuous.  A few hogs pretend to be wounded and looking for stable partners, but they are often too young and the choice to be slaughtered and roasted with aromatic spices.

But the worst of all hogs is the hog that pretends to walk on two legs.  They pretend to chase don't give out any information about themselves.  They can lie through their teeth, if only to avoid being stuffed with that red, delicious apple.  They snuggle and smile, they smirk and oink;  they'll follow you around and sniff your pockets and even your vulnerability.  They know you will eat them but they won't eat you back.  They say you must be punished for walking on fours, and they force you to feed on their trash.  They sleep, they hog the sheets, they feel so at home naked and take everything they can get.  No, they don't ask for money because they have jobs and have their own place, but they will ask you for dinner and perhaps even breakfast.  They will roast you if you don't know how to spear them first and throw them in the open fire.  

Those aren't hogs ... they're fucking asses.