That look....

Yeah, so I reach this really uncool milestone: I'm now officially over 300 lbs. That's the bad news. The good news is, I'm also over that awkward stage between buff and overweight. You know, where there's still enough muscle to suck it in, but too much fat to make it matter, so you wind up looking like a very plump, number eight? Also, when you're in between youth and middle age, and your face is still thin, and still retains that hard, "military look," but your body shape doesn't match? So you think you've still got a shot at the good 'ol days when the face and military-styled face matched; but you secretly knew those days were gone forever?

Fear no more! Now, I'm officially into "large and in charge!" When I was leaner and meaner, people didn't trust me, because when I'm not smiling, I've been told I've got this seriously hard-ass look that scares people. I guess there must be something to it, because children and dogs don't second guess me. Even around mean dogs, if I snap my fingers, they'll usually cock their head to one side, as if they're waiting for a command. My sister-in-law is amazed at how well her kids listen to me. They don't even listen to her mom that well, and in that family, her mom is the alpha matriarch.

So now, I'm all squishy, so I'm much less threatening, which is cool. When I was much thinner, as long as I kept a smile on my face or kept from getting angry, women would usually find excuses to come over and talk to me. It usually wasn't the other way around. When my wife announced our engagement where we both worked, alot of cattiness erupted. That was then. Now, women don't give me a second look. But, I've figured out a way around that. Am I married? Yes. But do I enjoy going through life thinking my days of being attractive are long gone? No. So, the other day, I was looking for a little ego boost, and lucky for me, I got it.

I was at the video store. There was this young woman behind the counter. It's obvious that she's been in some type of organized athletic endeavor, probably since she's been able to walk. You can tell, just by the svelt muscle structure and naturally sculpted look. She was thin, but not because she starved herself - she was thin because it was mostly muscle with just a little layer of feminine fat, to let you know that she's all woman.

Some guy who looked like a homeless bum was in front of me, chatting her up, like he had a snowball's chance in hell. He's trying to convince her that he gets bored after watching a movie, and needs to do something - he can't watch two movies in a row.

She's shaking her head up and down with politeness, but you can tell that her interest in the conversation was forced so she wouldn't come off looking elitist. I'm watching her while she's ringing up his order, and all I can think while staring at her ass is, "Why don't you just step out of those clothes, hop up on the counter in a buns-up position, and just let me stroke you while you have about 4 or 5 orgasms, while I figure out which hole to put it in first?" Naw, guys really don't think that way - yeah, right. (Every 5 seconds!)

When the homeless guy is rung up and walking out the door, she nods in his direction and rolls her eyes. I couldn't believe someone like her is even caring what someone like me thinks - about what she thinks. So, I figure I'm going to see how far this'll go.

As I said before, people have told me that I have this look that can scare them. It's a "I mean business look," but it's not psycho; it's cold and calculating. The polynesian girls in Hawaii loved it - they said it reminded them of Steven Segal. (Whatever!)

Now that I'm all squishy and everything, I figure, "Since my body is no longer mean and threatening, I wonder if I could give this girl 'my look' and I wonder what her reaction would be?"

I stare directly into her eyes, lean into her so she could practically feel my breath when I talked, and I said, "Do you sell popcorn?" I didn't know what else to say to extend the conversation. She explained that they did, and she walked over and pointed directly at the popcorn display, and she said they also have trial mix and a huge selection of chocolates and hard candies. I'm thinking at this point, she's a commissioned salesperson. I didn't move my feet, but I did look over where she was pointing. She comes back to the counter to ring me up. I give her a slight smirk, as though she might have a booger hanging from her nose, but maybe I'm too polite to say anything. Then, I go back to the look, not saying anything.

Her eyes never left mine. There's a big line behind me, and I've got the cash in my pocket, but I thought I'd use the ATM card instead. People behind me were getting visibly annoyed. She looked at them, smiled at me, and said, "That's OK; no problem," with a big smile on her face. My smirk returns. This time, it's more friendly.

"Are you aware that you have 3 movies with three different return dates?" Before I could say anything, she goes over to the printer, hits a button, and my transaction prints off. She carefully rips it off the printer, slowly walks back over to the register, while at the same time, studying the printout.

"Did anyone ever show you how to read these return dates?" Forget 'the look,' and 'the smirk,' I'm just down-right shocked. Before I could say anything, she goes on: "There aren't any dashes, and the year appears first in a four digit format, then the date, then the month. It's confusing because they're all numbers - at least I thought it was when someone first showed me." She smiles.

I (without even thinking) give her a wink and a nod, and say, "Thanks." I used the printout to give her a half-ass salute, and I walked out the door, walking on sunshine. I lost my body, but I've gained the ability to use a look that used to scare people, into something that evidently some women like.

I've always liked Fridays.