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Well, there has been many questions I’ve fielded in my life. Questions such as “how come you’re single” or “how did you get to be so cute”.

Well, to answer the first question, the one I get most often, here’s the skinny. I’ve yet to meet a man I didn’t want to bury under the floorboards after fifteen minutes.

I once saw the Coyote on a Bugs Bunny cartoon buy an Acme super electron magnet to try to catch ol’ Bugs with a metal carrot. What he ended up attracting to his lair was everything except his intended target.

I kinda feel like that sometimes. I seem to have a road map for the outcasts of society leading straight to my front door. If he’s unwashed, I get him. If he’s got three teeth, and only one of them resembles it’s original shade at birth, I rate him. If he’s written a manifesto for the aliens about to land in Nebraska, he’s all mine!

Wonderbar!

It’s not that I don’t attract good men. The problem is that they’re where I’m not. It’s the ones that live within striking distance that present the issue. Some inherent birth defect I didn’t quite realize I was in possession of draws them to me like flies to landfill. I may be wrong, but it honestly feels as though some of the testosterone I exude has a wolf bane mixed with Gold Bond scenting the outer atmosphere that seems to bring out the dregs on date night.

I’m single out of sheer self preservation. I’m single because I can’t with good conscience date outside my species. I’m single cos Mama wouldn’t approve of me keeping company with the cutie that was once featured on the Jerry Springer show.

Picky!

Now… to respond to Cute. Me…cute. Um….yah. Cute. I wanted FIERCE! I ended up with Sweetie McCuddlebuns.

“Heave”!

I’d love to figure out where in the hell I got “cute” from.

I know I didn’t order me any from the Franklin Mint. I assume I wasn’t so drunk one night that I allowed someone to tattoo cute all over me. And I damned well know that my lack of  beauty didn’t invite cute in for a long term visit.

So Dear Lord above…how in the hell did I get to be  C U T E !!! I’m askin’, cos I’m so very confused.

I see cute as some lumbering puppy careening head first into a tower of toilet paper. I see cute as a child smiling at the mobile above her.

I don’t see cute in my bathroom mirror.

So what do I see.

Well, quite frankly I see a guest star on “COPS”. I mean, I have all the trademarks to define that wonderfully dangerous look.

Wifebeater: check

Boxers: check

Chinstrap Goatee: check

White trash mouth: check.

Yet…I’m still straddled with cute.  Would someone please explain?

I once went to work dressed up like Arnie in Terminator 2. I figured my Boulets, my leather coat and my sunglasses would make me look good and dangerous. What I got was …………CCCCUUUUTTTEEEEE! How I wished for a few high powered firearms that afternoon.

I wanna be the Marlboro Man. I wanna be Sly Stallone taking out the enemy in a jungle. I wanna be thundering down the street, bad assed and revered. But unfortunately, as I have learned, that’s about as effective as dressing a glo worm up to be an anaconda. Just isn’t cuttin’ it. I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life I fear as a living breathing Care Bear. So much for lookin’ all bad and evil and stuff.

Why me!

So, for those of you that wondered…single and cute are not by choice. They’re God’s constant source of amusement.

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