I used to be really cute. Like, getting checked out and getting phone numbers and getting offered drinks cute (I never accepted a drink from someone I didn't know, though.) Of course, this is no longer the case. And it wasn't always the case (I was a dork in high school). I had a brief period of hotness in the mid-to-late '90's and have been heading steadily downhill, rapidly, ever since.

So what did I do with my hotness? Did I use it to attract rich guys? No. (Although, ironically, guys named Rich...) Did I slut it up around town? No. (Too afraid of diseases.) Did I attract a collect a set of sexy boy toys for my own amusement? Not exactly.

I did amuse myself -- but by torturing the meathead douchebag idiots other women seemed to fawn over. For example... (cue wavy picture, flashback music)

When Dilf and I were dating, he worked with a douchebag that other women swooned over but who was basically Joey from my last post. I was meeting up with Dilf and his work buddies for a drink, and this man who we'll call "Joey" was there -- with his cousin.

His cousin was not at all fashion-conscious, a little paunchy, and sort of shy. I knew right away he was "Joey's" wing man, and served to provide contrast to Joey's obvious handsomeness. I knew immediately what to do.

Of course, I struck up a conversation with the cousin. I hung on his every word, which were nearly all about hot-air ballooning, because this cousin was really passionate about his ballooning hobby. In fact, he was in town from New Mexico.

Well, douchebag Joey was not having any of this. His world was in turmoil -- how could his dumpy cousin, who was supposed to be the pathetic one, be monopolizing the attentions of a cute girl? He attempted to butt in the conversation with a condescending, "Yeah, yeah, yeah... so, (insert moronic attempt to impress me with something. I forget what he said, exactly.)" He tried to put his arm around me and steer me away from his cousin, and toward him.

I stiffened and said, stony-faced, "Excuse me, we were having a conversation," and, wriggling out of his grasp, turned back to his cousin. "So, the last time you were ballooning..." I said, sweetly and pleasantly and oh-so-attentively.

Joey was aghast, and more than a little miffed. I was crowing inside. Jerk.

And here's the thing. I wasn't using the cousin to make a point (well, maybe just a little.) I was more interested in hearing about New Mexico, which I still haven't visited, and hot air ballooning, which I've never done, and it was heartwarming to see how much he loved his hobby. I wasn't pretending to prefer a conversation with the cousin; I did prefer it. What was Joey going to contribute to the conversation? That he liked beer and sex with hot chicks? If I wanted to hear from someone like him, I could just tune in to "Beavis and Butthead," which was still on the air at the time.

So, maybe I was a little mean to Joey. I was even meaner the next time we went out, and he was trying to hit on the waitress by grabbing the check and cooing, "Is it $5,000, sweetheart?" And I interjected, "He wants to know if it's more or less than his current yearly salary." Which made the straight-edge punk rocker guy who worked in the same department laugh, but which did NOT make Joey smile. I shouldn't be mean to anyone; that's not right. But if I have to mean, I choose to be mean to someone like Joey.

The world is mean enough to the non-Joeys.