Pocket-Sized Bombshell

My friend is a bombshell.  When I’m with her, it’s like hanging out with Marilyn Monroe.   A shorter, more shapely Marilyn Monroe.  She is the flame to every male moth within her orbit.  Has been ever since high school.  Most definitely she is gorgeous, that’s part of it, but she has something MORE.  Something intangible.  I don’t know if it is her pheromones or her complete disdain for the
males of our species in general, but every time I’m with her I feel I
need to document the experience for a psychology journal.  It’s something to see.

Marilyn Monroe photographed by Milton Greene

 Picture, if you will… We sit at a table, minding our own business.  Almost immediately, any straight male within arms’ length puts his shoulders back, sits up straighter, sucks in his gut.  They start talking a little louder so that they can maybe get her attention.  Then other dudes at tables a little bit further away and those sitting at the bar fall into her wake.   I’m not saying that she’s a landlocked Charybdis, but it is kind of like watching a whirlpool or black hole suck things into it.  And she’s just sitting there…  Not noticing the men salivating at her.

Honestly? I think that it really is because she could care less.  She has no interest in those guys and that, well that added to her ridiculous sexpot, bombshell beauty is what does it.  I could be naked doing the Charleston and I swear to God not one man would notice me. And I’m a redhead with D-cups.  She could totally do mass-hypnosis with this power.  If I could figure out a way we could make money off this super power – I could be her agent and we’d be rich!  Until then, I will just watch and document – it must be worthy of a phenomenon being named after it at the very least.