There are two things on my mind today, faux mohair and men. This is my first fluff of the season, the beginning of a long seasonal series of mohair coats that make me a chubbier sort of chic. But I don’t care, never did. However, onto the men, there has been a very sudden surge in headturning-ly handsome men in Barcelona. They are joining my gym, drinking lattes at cafe tables next to me, clinking beer glasses with friends as I stuff kale into my face at lunch alone, they are browsing my neighborhood bookstore, walking their dogs, buying lemons at the supermarket, skateboarding near the beach. You might have seen my snapchat yesterday? I snapped a perfect of a very handsome man mid burger bite? He is just one of many. So many, girls, I am not exaggerating when I tell you that they are everywhere! This phenomenon is rather inexplicable to me, but yet, even more mystifying is how do I initiate an interaction with these men? I am just not sure.
I would very much like to talk to them but not convinced approaching them with a simple ‘HOLA’ would result in us running away, happily ever after together. In fact, I know it wouldn’t. I’ve thought about asking for directions, yes that might work. But then again, I am so awkward sometimes. It would more than likely go terribly wrong, I’d start rambling nonsensically or Biba might decide she needs to pee right there on the street. As for the gym, oh I’d love a gym buddy beau but I’m so unattractive when I work out. My 10k runs leave me limp with a face so red you’d think I had actually run to the sun itself. And then there’s the sweat and my tendency of mouthing the lyrics to songs, which is less obviously singing and more muttering to myself. Or a man that reads and happily spends his money on books. Oh, how lovely that would be. My last visit to the bookshop resulted in me tripping straight into a book display, toppling over a tower of hardbacks. Not ideal.
I spent a small fortune as an apology to the owners for causing such mayhem. A cute boy did approach me a few days ago, but only to tentatively tell me the label was jutting out of the neck of my sweater. That is the closest I’ve gotten to scoring a date, which isn’t very close at all. We could include the old man who approached me yesterday at the gym. I struggled to not laugh out loud during my entire abdominal routine as he practiced some kind of pseudo salsa dancing in the mirror. Yes, he asked me out. He invited me to a dance class, obviously I declined. But at the rate I’m going, I probably should have said yes. I see all these men but I cannot know any of these men. It’s like window shopping, a concept I never understood. What’s the fun in looking if you can’t have it? I want someone to argue about books with. I want someone to make fun of my awkward sweat patches at the gym together. I want to have someone in mind when I listen to that goddamn Adele song. I’m tired of eating kale alone. I would love to have a man teach me how to skateboard. We could buy lemons together and drink lattes by the beach. And it wouldn’t matter if Biba peed on the street because his dog would probably be peeing too. And then I could stop marveling at all these handsome men because I’d have my own.
girls, i have an ongoing daily story on snapchat too, less refined, more rambling
come follow along & we can talk. my username is ‘audreyleighton’