My landlord popped by today, all sun-kissed and beaming from his two week cruise in the Caribbean. He was showing the house to two boys who were considering moving in next month.

 

Jagerbomb came downstairs wearing her pyjamas and my landlord said, “I’m going to introduce you to this guy! He’s great!” To which Jagerbomb mumbled something incoherent and went back to her room.

 

So the two guys show up and they’re pretty cute, one in particular. Of course once they step into the loft, we immediately launch into a discussion about its awesomeness and how I’m a spoiled brat who demanded the room as soon as we moved in.

 

Then Landlord goes, “She’s single too.” I say, “Whaaaaa?” and we all giggle nervously.

 

Anyway, the guys are talking about practicing their dancing, and then I remember seeing the other guy perform with the East Rock Crew at Relay for Life back in January. I immediately jump in like I’m their favourite fan, and we talk about using this terrible, feces-infested carpet as a dance floor.

 

As they’re leaving to go, the cute guy says, “I’d love to bring the other guys by sometime to look at this place, is it okay if I get your number so I can call ahead of time?”

 

I say, “Well, I’m out tomorrow.”

He says, “Damn, well I tried” and gets Jagerbomb’s number instead**. Well who wants to date a guy who can contort himself into ridiculous shapes anyway? I can’t think of anything useful to do with a guy who can balance his entire body on one hand or do the splits, or both at one time.  Foiled again Candice, foiled again.

 

 

**I am aware that this is a joke. I am not entirely pathetic, just marginally.  

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