Like any other narcissistic 
young adult, I enjoy being objectified every now and again. The difference is that I’m pretty open about it. I guess it’s somewhat of a guilty pleasure because I’m aware that it’s a deeper issue for others. But truthfully, I don’t mind it. Really. However, it’s pretty rare that I’m indulged by those around me. It’s no big secret that I could probably survive on bread, water, and ego-boosts alone and so my friends do a pretty decent job of keeping me on the verge of starvation. It’s for my own good, they tell me.
During the warmer months, I somehow develop this allergy to shirt sleeves, and sometimes shirts altogether (weird right?) which I am also shameless about. On the occasions that I decide to go for a run during these months, I take a scenic route in one of the nearby suburbs where the traffic is calmer and the people a bit more docile. It’s actually kind of nice to get away from the bustle of the city so quickly. But what’s also become part of the routine are the smiles I get from some of the neighborhood housewives in passing. Sometimes winks even.
Now don’t get me wrong. These are no Eva Longoria’s and I’m no pool boy, but I don’t think there’s anything terribly wrong with being a bit of eye candy for the young ladies. I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to turn theyuppiedilemma.com into a cougar dating website right? Or am I…
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