It's so nice to be wanted


There is a school of thought that says a man's sexual attractiveness begins to wane after age 35, but that sure isn't true in my case.

Women still find me plenty hot-looking. I took the baby for a walk the other day and I had to practically beat the women off with a crowbar. It was unbelievable. It really was.

Even before we got to the park, this one woman -- she was about 25 -- started eyeing me as we crossed the street.

She wanted me -- you could tell. She just stood there undressing me with her eyes. I'm used to it, of course. But sometimes it makes you feel so . . . cheap.

Finally she decided to make her move.

"What's that?" she said.


"That thing . . . on your shirt."

"This? A Bert and Ernie sticker."


"See, Bert's the tall one . . ."

"You wear a Bert and Ernie sticker?"

"It's really the baby's sticker."

I'm telling you, I thought she was going to tear her clothes off right there.

I don't know what it is about Bert and Ernie stickers, but they drive women wild. It's like slapping on Polo.

I just wish I'd known about this in college. Because I would have plastered my clothes with stickers of Big Bird, Grover, Cookie Monster -- the whole Sesame Street gang.

Anyway, as soon as the light turned green, this woman hurried across the street and disappeared. But you could tell she wanted to stay. A woman comes up to you and starts talking about your Bert and Ernie sticker, it's a pretty safe bet she's attracted to you.

So now the baby and I get to the park and sure enough another woman comes up. She pretended to be pushing her kid on the swing. But I could tell she was just doing that to get near me.

Look, this isn't the first time's it's happened, OK? I might not be the smartest guy in the world, but I know when I'm being hit on. Especially when a woman is staring over at you every five seconds, like this one was.

Finally, she walked over and cleared her throat.

"Something's . . . never mind," she said.

"No, please. Go ahead."

"There's something on your forehead."

"On my fore . . .?"

"It looks like . . . peas."

"Peas? Well, I just fed the baby."

"You want to borrow a tissue?"

"He had strained peas for lunch."


The whole time I'm thinking: Is this wild or what? Stickers, peas on your forehead . . . the things these women come up with to move on you.

Anyway, it was obvious she wanted to talk. So I started telling her about the baby. He's really a wonderful baby. But sometimes he throws his food.

Like if you give him the Gerber beef and he doesn't feel like beef, he might whip the spoon at you. He's got a little bit of a temper in that respect.

The woman listened to this for a few moments.

Then she turned and said: "C'mon Jessica, we have to go!"

But you could tell she really wanted to stay. You could tell she wanted to talk some more.

One time the baby whipped a bread stick at me in a restaurant and nearly poked out my cornea. I could have told her that story. But then she would have been all over me.

Anyway, as soon as she left, we wandered over to the jungle gym. Right away this very attractive redhead comes over.

"Sir . . ." she began.

Let me tell you something. When they call you "sir," they're crazy about you.

"Sir, your coat . . ."

"Italian leather," I said.

"The baby must have . . .

"Feel how soft that is."

". . . spit up on your shoulder."

"You can't buy a coat like this anymore."

"Want to borrow a Kleenex?"

God, how obvious can you get?

So I took her stupid Kleenex and wiped the spit-up on my coat, which wasn't much.

You'd think she could come up with a better opening line than that. But some of these women, they don't even try to be creative.

After a while, I got tired of being hassled, so the baby and I headed home.

Naturally, a couple of women stopped me on the way back.

One of them made up some ridiculous story about grape jelly in my hair. The other one pretended to be admiring the baby.

Honestly. You'd think I was the only guy on the planet.

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