Not Every Man’s a Hero
It’s no secret that I have this thing for pretty Asian guys and my chance of finding one in Marrero (or so I thought) was slim to none. Even though we have a Korean church in walking distance from my home, I’ve never seen one. But two days ago this gorgeous Korean guy boarded the bus when I was on my way to work and my eyes automatically moved from the passage I was reading in the novel to him. Hmmm, he’s slim, but he’s not tall and he doesn’t have a butt. But his jeans were riding low on his hips and the shoulder-length black hair and bangs was a plus in his favor so I thought I could forgive the fact that he’s not six feet tall and have a bodacious booty. Not perfect, my devious little mind calculated but workable.
He didn’t sit next to me but instead chose a seat across the aisle and a row behind, but I could see him move out of the corner of my eye. So I settled back into my seat and got back to reading while we crossed the Mississippi River Bridge into New Orleans. The guy gets off the bus on Poydras Avenue, which is the central business district which means he’s either about to transfer to another bus, working in the area or going to court. By the way he’s dressed in jeans and a short sleeved shirt I’m thinking he’s probably a laborer, not that that’s a bad thing. But I am looking for someone to wine and dine me now and not the other way around.
Later that evening I look for him on the way home. If he works an eight hour job he should board the same bus I do to go home, since it’s the last bus going over the river. But he didn’t get on.
Fast forward to yesterday morning. I got on the bus and a lady in front of me smelt like she took a bath in cologne. And not the good stuff…the old lady stuff that automatically sets off my allergies and I cough until I dug a cough drop out of my book bag. So I got as comfortable as I could get and the bus pulls off and we head toward Harvey where the guy got on yesterday. Alas, he didn’t get on at his stop so I figured his riding was just a one ride fluke. Maybe his car broke down and that’s why he had to ride the bus.
So we arrive at the terminal several minutes later and a lot of other people boarded. A guy sits next to me but I don’t see his face because mine is buried in a book. Then something catches my attention. Out of the corner of my right eye I see this long jet black hair. It’s him. I try not to seem too excited and just go on reading and listening to my MP3 player. The bus moves from the terminal and into traffic and then it hits me…a smell. Him. He stinks. Oh my gawd. He smells like he hasn’t had a bath and like he’s been drinking all night. Why me? He gets on his cell phone and I can smell his bad breath. Okay so now I really can’t breathe between him and the lady with the cologne. I try to discretely cover my nose, but that doesn’t work, so I try to shift my body to the left and pretend everything is okay. But there’s nothing I can do because there isn’t another empty seat and we’re about to cross the Mississippi River Bridge again. So I just had to bear it. Lucky for me he gets off at Poydras again.
When I get to work I tell my co-worker Tracee about my experience and she just laughs. I have to agree it was hilarious. At lunch I talked it over with another friend of mine and he says that not all countries have the same standards of bathing as we do in the United States. True, but ass is not in the another country, he’s in the US and sitting next to me on the bus. I have to admit, I set my standards way high when it comes to men, and let’s face it no one is going to come close to those three gorgeous Koreans I have lost my heart to (JYJ), but why put such a temptation in front of me? Believe it or not, I look for him on the way home but he doesn’t get on the bus.
I tried to find a rationale for my fascination with this guy and try to find excuses for his deplorable shape. I think maybe he works at night and he was just getting in and hadn’t have time to change. Or maybe he could be homeless, and I think it cost $2.00 to ride that bus and I’d seen him twice and if I was homeless I wouldn’t be wasting money on a bus.
The cougar in me still thought he was cute beneath all that stank. Maybe I could take him home and scrub him up, I reasoned. That’s what one of my heroines would do in a story. No, even I have my limits and I don’t pick up stray men or dogs on the street and I’m not about to start just because all that black silky hair has caught my attention. I’d probably have to delouse him too just to get to that hair. He has leading man potential, but I’m not willing to work that hard to uncover that diamond in the rough.
Funny thing happened last night. There was an article on the Internet about Micky and his younger brother. Someone asked the younger brother to talk about Micky’s bad points, and the first thing he said was that Micky liked to clean and would fuss at him for leaving a cup on the table. He said his brother was more feminine than he was and was interested in fashion. I started to laugh. Believe me little brother, it could be worse, he could not take a bath. I’d gladly swap stinky cutie, as I named the guy on the bus for his big brother, who by the way I still feel is husband material and the object of many of my dreams at night. If I’m going cast a hero, it would be him.