Coke-bottle cock-blocker

Imagine a sexy Thai rock-climbing instructor with Che’s neanderthalic face:

His name was Na, we chatted in engrish and made eyes at each other for days. We even had a date to go buy veggies and cook yum tua plu. Rough seas made the market boat trip impossible, so the date never happened and neither did the make-out session I’d dreamt of. Thai sigh.

Now, picture a more handsome, Thai version of Snoop Dogg with a guitar and long wavy hair. You’re swooning, too. I know!

I lusted for this guy for 3 days, watching him play soccer, nap topless, look for shellfish, the list of hot activities goes on and on. When he pulled up his Rolling Stones shirt to show me a scar from a fire-spinning accident, I nearly fainted. The man was so fine! Didn’t romance him either. F!

Whyyy? Partly because Thai guys are so shy, but mostly because I think too much. I actually took a walk on the beach to decide if I should put the moves on timid Thai Snoop. What I came up with is, in hindsight, a bit absurd. I concluded that he was just too perfect and happy and gorgeous in this paradisiacal island for some western bitch to make out with him and leave the next day. I didn’t want to stain his purity with the grossness of American tourism and [this is where I get crazy] likened the love session to tribal Xi finding that modern Coke bottle in The Gods Must Be Crazy.

Sure, it seems harmless and fun. Sweet, even. But in the long run, it’ll ruin your peaceful life and you’ll wish you never saw the thing. Yep, I stood on the beach that night, drunk and horny, deciding not to head back into the bar because he was too wholesome and I was a damn Coke bottle.
Aaaand this is why I’m single.
My lips wish my brain would give it a rest sometimes.

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