I saw a girl at Target the other day so hot that I immediately wanted to be her best friend. From the tips of her long black hair to her ivory skin to her perfect perky breasts and the sway of her tight hips, she was stunning perfection and I was immediately enchanted and automatically added forty additional frump points to my already-feeling-frumpy ego. I stalked her through a couple of aisles just to see if she had any noticeable imperfections, like if she was particularly bitchy to the staff, but no, she cooed at a baby and then picked up something that some other knuckle dragger had left on the floor. Unfair, I thought, beauty and a decent personality.
I had to be her friend.
Of course I didn’t end up befriending the Target Goddess because it would be sort of a weird basis for friendship. You know, I couldn’t casually say to her over coffee one day, “Oh, and I thought you were dead sexy so I had to befriend you after I stalked you around Target.” Because that would make me seem weirder than my collection of twenty orchids and sweater-vest made of dead hookers already did. But in the ten minutes that I was graced with her presence, I had developed a Girl Crush.
I immediately told The Daver, my husband, who was with me. He laughed, because it happens to me all the time. I can’t watch television for half an hour before I’m all, “holy shit, I am in LOVE with her hair.” Or “check out the legs on her!” I’d swear that I’m eleventy-jillion times worse than he is because, well, I am, at girl watching. Hell, most days, I’d prefer to watch girls than watch guys.
I’m not a closeted lesbian nor am I bisexual, and trust me, if I were either of those things, I would be screaming it from the rooftops and spray painting it from the rafters because that’s how I roll, but I just find the ladies, well, hot. And more than wanting to get down and dirty between the sheets with them, because let’s face it, I’m terrified of the vagina, I’d much rather just be their best friend. Not their pudgy sidekick, no, just as an equal, like maybe I’d get hotter if I stood next to them.
Something That Makes Them Sparkle
And it’s not just about their sex appeal. My Girl Crushes could be on the someone who fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down, provided they had that certain something that made them sparkle and shimmer in my eyes. Maybe they’re funny, which is always something I look for in a Girl Crush, or maybe they’re smart, or they have a sexy ass voice, or a sense of fashion that I hope to shamelessly copy and emulate and pass off as my own. Who knows what it is, just that it’s Something That Makes Them Sparkle. Like the lady on the cell phone commercials that always made me a little weak kneed whenever she came on. I tried to explain this to The Daver, but he was too busy lustily grabbing bottles of Astroglide and staring slack-jawed into the distance, imaging a banging three-some where we all worshipped, I’d guess, at the Alter of The Cock.
I hated to break his fantasy up, so I let him stay there for awhile until I reminded him that I’m decidedly not gay and that I prefer to worship at the Alter of The Cock solo. Besides, I gently tried to break it to him, it was highly unlikely that the lady who does the cell phone commercials is somehow going to magically know that some anonymous Midwestern girl with VERY kicky hair has a Girl Crush on her. Plus, I explained, she probably had a room full of money that she regularly bathed in and wouldn’t want to come and live in our boring suburban town just to be my friend. He seemed to buy that.
15 Minutes Later It’s Over
Soon, too, my crush ended when my Target Girl Crush grabbed a copy of Twilight and proceeded to loudly have a conversation on her cellphone about her husband who was, apparently, “soooooo lame,” and she couldn’t wait to text the guy she’d met at the bar last night. Cheating, as always, is kind of a turn off for me. Even in a friend. Probably the shortest relationship I’ve ever had, lasting all of 15 minutes, was over and done. Which was fine with me. Who can ever relax around someone that good looking anyway?
I broke up with my cell phone commercial lady soon after, when I saw her in an infomercial. Color me old fashioned, but I don’t like to mix my commercial actors around and I felt kind of betrayed. Besides, when she spoke she drew “plan” out into about three syllables which, in the North, is pretty unacceptable. We were done to. Broken up.
I’ll move on to other Girl Crushes eventually I’ll break up with them too, because that’s the way it goes. I’m as fickle as they come and that’s okay because I think that I get whatever it is that I need from them: a style I can shamelessly copy or a perfume I can run out and buy and then I move on. It’s my own version of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am without ever having to take off my shirt or show off my love handles and a good 98% of the time, not a soul knows they’re dating me platonically. It’s for the best that way. I can’t handle rejection.
Have you ever had a girl crush?