Okay, the first thing I’m going to admit is that I can’t hear the word ‘creep’ without having Radiohead’s lyrics to “Creep” ring through my head:
“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.”
The truth is I know a lot of creeps.
And I’m okay with that.
I used to get the willies from creeps but that was only until I met creepier creeps.
A 50+ year old man who admitted to me that he finds teen girls sexy.
I can’t even LOOK at 20 something year old young men without thinking about my own sons. So. Not. Sexy.
Another man who told me he steals ladies panties from the laundromat.
So I’m not talking about super creeps and uber creeps – the ones you want to take out restraining orders against.
I’m talking about your garden variety, run-of-the-mill creep.
- The guy who gives off that funny vibe that makes you feel like you’re standing naked in front of him.
- The guy who has “horny” written all over his face and you can just tell he’s imagining doing naughty things with you.
- The guy who you know would get down with you in a millisecond, regardless of where you are and who you are with.
Dare I say it?
I find those guys kinda charming.
Some of my closest friends would probably classify themselves as creeps, in one way or another.
I find something transparent in creeps – as if their deepest desires are barely veiled from the world, ready to be let loose at a moment’s notice.
And it occurs to me that perhaps my fondness for creeps is because I TOO AM A CREEP.
- Giving off a weird vibe.
- Sexual frustration just brewing beneath the surface.
Yes friends, I’m a creep.
I’m a weirdo.
But don’t you find me the teensiest tiniest bit charming?
You do now, don’t you?