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.

SUCH AS:

A 50+ year old man who admitted to me that he finds teenage girls sexy.

Super creepy!

I can’t even LOOK at 20 something year old young men without thinking about my own sons.

It’s. So. Not. Sexy.

OR:

Another man who told me he steals ladies panties from the laundromat.

Uber creepy!

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.

• Awkward.
• 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 bit charming?

You do now, don’t you?