Come for the boobs, stay for the brains


It’s what I tell myself every single time I go on a date.

Don’t try so hard to be sexy.

Just be yourself.

But somehow I always find myself making playfully suggestive comments to my dates while smiling innocently at them.

Or giving him a lap dance at the beach (true story).

Or wearing something very low cut and suggestive.

I’ve come to the conclusion that being bad is just way more fun.

And it’s much easier than talking about meaningful things in my life.

Who wants to hear about my son dying from cancer? Or about my job struggles?

None of that is entertaining.

If I didn’t flirt on dates, what would I do with myself?

How do you figure out if there’s chemistry? What makes a man want to get to know a woman?

This is a mystery to me.

I figure when I partner up with a boyfriend, it’ll be because he just happened to stick around past all the great stuff (i.e. my cleavage and bedroom antics) to discover all the extraordinary stuff underneath that.

Come for the boobs, stay for the brains.


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