Tip Our Hats: Squirrely Dudes

Put me in a room of guys and you can bet your bottom dollar that I would make a bee line straight to the most socially inept of the bunch. In high school, some girls would sweat the class clown, some girls would crush out on the jock flexing his biceps, and some girls would geek out about the aloof, tortured musicians.

Not me. I'd fall for the quiet weirdo writing poems in his notebook in the back of the classroom. He wouldn't even know how handsome he was, which just added to his appeal.

This is the guy that no girl would even notice. He probably wouldn't know what to do if they did. That doesn't faze me because I love squirrely guys. I speak their language. I'm like the Squirrel Whisperer. I can pull them out of their shell and transform them from a fidgety misanthrope into a fidgety regular-thrope.

So, squirrely dudes, I tip my hat to you. The way you freeze up when I say hello makes it sweeter when you warm up and ask for my phone number when I say goodbye.