Good morning. T.H. here, fresh from my morning commute, where I had a dismal round of the Subway Game (those of you familiar with my blog know what I’m talking about, the rest of you feel free to check out the rules and requirements here).
The morning crop usually yields quite a few hotties, but the pickings were slim this morning. I blame this on the fact that I was running about fifteen minutes behind schedule. Clearly, the later into the morning rush you find yourself, the better the chance that you’ll be riding with the commuters that were scraped from the bottom of the genetic barrel.
This morning’s round emphasized that point. What did I have to choose from? For starters, there was the man who thought a mesh shirt was a good idea, despite being fifty pounds overweight. Next in line was the old man whose nose hairs were so long, I nearly mistook him for a deformed miniature elephant. Nearly offering some redemption was the Middle Eastern fellow. His face wasn’t altogether unattractive, but I could see straight up his baggy shorts, so at least I knew in advance what kind of goods I’d be getting if he were to be my official selection. Then I looked down and saw that he was wearing black socks with white jogging shoes, so I was forced to disqualify him.
In times of desperation during the Subway Game, I alter the rules a little. Instead of choosing the man I’ll have sex with for the rest of my life, I choose a woman based on how good our kids will look (conceived via artificial insemination, of course). I still bombed in that department, though. The only slightly attractive woman was wearing what could only be described as a rubber band for a skirt, and she was playing a little game of Basic Instinct and Sharon Stoning the other male passengers.
Alas, as the train neared Grand Central, I realized I wouldn’t come out a winner this time. But, just as I stood up to exit, I noticed that, tucked away in a corner, was a hot young Latin thing wearing fashionable jeans and a tight black t-shirt that showed off his biceps. I had just enough time to deem him my official selection before I stepped off the train (and thereby not in violation of rules), and telepathically thank him for saving the morning.
And thank god. Because I didn’t really want to have to spend my lunch hour riding the 4 train on the off-chance that I’d have a good round of the Subway Game and be able to get the taste of ugly out of my mouth.