Now, take that hair, cut it to about a half inch long all the way around, make his brow one that overhangs, add in a uni-brow, then dye all his hair black and you have the perfect image of this guy I met today.
It took me a long time to quit staring at this guy’s face. How in the world does a hairline grow so low onto a person’s forehead? Did he go overboard with the Rogaine? And, how can there possibly be a shadow over the bridge of his nose?
As if that wasn’t enough, this guy thought he was… Oh, I don’t want to say this but it’s true: He thought he was hot. Cocky as all get-out, especially since he thought he’d been wronged.
“Oh, sorry,” he says looking down at his cell phone. “My wife texted me, wants to know if she can come back here because some man is talking to her in the waiting room and he’s making her nervous.”
That was Red Flag #1. The wife comes back and stands behind him while he and I continue to talk. She’s fearful and wants to be by her man?
“The mayor fired me. He's pissed off at me because I broke up with his daughter.”
I glance up at wife, back down at this guy’s face, back up to wife, and she says, “Yeah, I know. It was while we were separated.” I didn’t believe that for a second, especially since he said he was fired today.
“I have a baseball bat out in the truck if you want to borrow it,” I said to the wife.
Red Flag #2 started waving madly in my mind. I’m sure I couldn’t keep my cynical Mr. Spock eyebrow from arching up. I never was good at controlling my facial features when I react to things. Hm. Mr. Stud and Mrs. Way-too-Meek-to-Say-Boo stands in front of me and my mind flashed instantly to Mr. Stud was a Don Juan, and ol’ Mr. Mayor probably wanted to shoot this guy’s manhood off for messing with his daughter.
Red Flag #3 starting working up quite a bit of a ripple when I noticed also that Mr. Stud never once looked up at his wife, never said anything to her and only referred to her – as if she wasn’t standing right there – as “my wife.”
He wove quite a story for me. His self-righteousness was in full voice. So, I sent him up to the newspaper. He was ready to spill his beans, and I paved the way for him. I called my editor.
Mr. Stud walked out of my office like a rooster in full strut. He was ready to tell the world his side of the story. Only, he didn’t know the story had already made it to the newspaper and the reporter was just waiting for a “quote” from him – whenever he got around to returning the calls and messages left on his home phone.
I called my editor a little while later, and Mr. Stud was still there. Only, the story he was telling the reporter had nothing to do with the Mayor’s daughter, and suddenly, there’s a line about a wrecked truck. When I shared what I had been told, we enjoyed a good, long belly laugh.
My editor says, “How can guys be such jackasses?” and “I wonder how old the mayor’s daughter is?” I love how that man thinks.
I think it’s all in the hairline myself. Something so “off” would make anything believable after that.