The Young and the Shameless

Recently, FAB has encountered an entirely different breed of dude, a seemingly exotic bird: He Who Does Not Embarrass. At all. Ever. FAB is plagued with a chronic condition characterized by constantly turning wheels inside the head, wheels taxed with the difficult yet all-important work of overanalyzing even the tiniest minutiae. I've always been a bit envious of people who just seem so effortless and carefree, like they just don't give a fuck. So you can see why, at first blush, that brash swagger of unwavering self assurance can charm the pants off of those of us who suffer from paralyzing self-doubt and a self-destructive affinity for the cocky and just slightly out of reach.
At first blush.
But you know what, folks? Embarrassment exists for a reason. There is a threshold past which not feeling embarrassed by a situation no longer inspires awe but rather induces a special level of cringe and ick coupled with escapist fantasies. And once you cross over that line, things go downhill fast and hard.

Exhibit A:
Last week I paid a business visit* to Major Crush Object of the Summer in his place of employment. The moment he cheerfully emerged from his office my eyes widened. Nestled in the scraggly beginnings of a beard, sitting proudly right in the middle of his cheek, was the most majestic specimen of a zit I've ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on. While MCOotS seemed happily oblivious to the monstrosity that had set up shop on his face, I couldn't help but gawp in horror at this inflamed and infected bullseye much the way the human eye is naturally drawn to flame. Now, maybe I'm vain, but surely I would've popped and drained that sucker days earlier. And now I can't seem to scrub the image of Mount Etna from my brain.

Exhibit B:
A very conservative but strangely intriguing hedge funder pursued me heavily during the first part of the summer. Normally anybody who identifies their favorite author as Ayn Rand gets an immediate red flag from this camp, but dude was unrelenting and I was feeling a bit reckless so I agreed to a first date. And surprisingly things went ok. So on the second date I agreed to go back to his place for a glass of wine. Huge mistake. I soon found myself sitting on a bed in a sterile yet somehow still smelly studio in midtown while a very conservative and now horrifying hedge funder sat on a yoga ball and proceeded to play the keyboard for me. And sing. An original composition. All composure is lost. FAB shifts uncomfortably in her "seat."

Exhibit C:
Crazy But Sweet Then-boyfriend comes into the bathroom while FAB is taking a shower and proceeds to take a dump. Really? You couldn't wait, like, I dunno, 5 minutes? Dude. Really.

*This was an actual business-related visit, folks. Not a "business" visit. Get your mind out of my pants.