that girl.

Marc and I went to a party recently, I know, I know, no, we didn't make any new friends there, where there was, in attendance, one of those girls. The girl with the cute haircut and the hot body and the funky glasses, who desperately searches every social occasion for the opportunity to remove her clothing.

She's the first one to suggest, as the party begins to wind down and everyone is relaxing on the sofas, a healthy streaking treatment for this stodgy neighborhood. Or a game of Strip Whatever. Or, body shots, anyone?

She's the girl you'd like to take home with you, and hug, and cuddle until she realizes that we all know she's got great tits and she doesn't actually have to remove the visual barriers so we can verify our suspicion.

She's the girl who layers on the nail laquer and hair product, creating an artfully dissheveled exterior that she'll peel away for you at the slightest suggestion.

I think I know, because I kinda think I maybe used to be that girl.