I was over at a leading place yesterday (man years ago actually – this is a repeat post) when one of the girls off-handedly began gossiping about the mad love affair one of the other girls is conducting with a guy from the neighborhood.
I’m always curious when I hear about a (presumably) hardened escort getting all gushy for a guy. I mean…she meets so many individuals compared to a “regular” girl, I wonder exactly what it is about the one man that is just sooo seductive. Is the guy George Clooney handsome? Or does he boast a huge wallet? Or an even bigger you-know-what?
Well anyway…I’ve found that there really is no predicting who an escort will fall for. Just like in the square world, there isn’t a lot of rhyme or reason in the process. It just inexplicably happens for no particularly rational reason. Regardless, this one really tickled me. The lucky guy who has so captivated this superstar is not a Fortune 500 CEO. He’s not an investment banker clad in an Armani suit. And he isn’t a rock star with 45 gold records. The guy is a mechanic at the local bike shop. I kid you not. The girl has fallen ass over tea kettle for a bicycle fix-it guy!
And ya know…this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this happen. A long time ago, I worked for a taxi paper which employed a self-proclaimed computer wiz who was also a bicycle mechanic (and a good one I might add). Warren was dating a gross, cheap blonde who nobody in the office fancied because the girl acted like she was better than everybody else. Whatever…when I moved on to my next job at Action Magazine, it wasn’t long before I discovered that Warren’s girlfriend’s images were plastered all over my new employer’s publication. Yup! Yet another escort hooked up with a bike-fixing dude! And they even got married and she quit the business – at least as far as I know.
So back to the point…if you wanna win the heart of your favorite escort, forget about driving a pimped out ride…or making a trillion dollars. All ya gotta do is learn how to fix a bicycle and you’re apparently on your way. Who’d a thunk?