Charm Nuggets

If men could be like the childhood favorite, Mr. Potato Head, women would probably be happy…for a little while.
“Oh Stacy, I thought I liked that nose with those eyes but now I’m just not sure.”
“Yea, I know what you mean Veronica, I always go cuckoo for a set of black glasses but there’s something that just doesn’t work this time.”

Sometimes too many choices and too much control can be even worse than leaving things to chance.

As we are aware, men are not manufactured by Hasbro or Tyco. They come as they are. So the one I fell for with the bright green eyes and cute smile came right from the Frat Boy Collection, complete with flip flops and backward baseball cap. I typically date guys who are my age or just a few years older, not many years older. I don’t usually stray to either end of the spectrum—the silver foxes or the Abercrombie kids. I’ll blame my dalliance on the recent buzz about older women dating younger men; “cougars” as they say. Thanks to Ashton and Demi!

With his backward USC baseball cap, flip flops, shit-eating grin and vocabulary that was laden with the word “dude,” one might wonder how any woman could take him seriously, never mind someone older. The answer dear readers is simple. He possessed “charm nuggets.” This is the name I’ve given those little glimmers that appear and make you think you’re experiencing something much better than the reality that stands before you. It’s like eating a candy bar when you’re hungry. You know that it is sweet and tasty but you also know it won’t fill you and is clearly not good for you. After the brief sugar-induced rush, we come crashing back down still needing more—something with substance. That is the plight of dating a dude and being temporarily blinded by his charm nuggets.

Even when I said I was done, the charm nuggets lured me back. There were the frequent phone calls that made me feel wanted and there were the compliments, oh the compliments. My ego craved those. “A man/boy 11 years younger wants me. I rule,” my ego would say with its own shit-eating grin. Then there was that smile and those nice eyes and the ability to make intelligent conversation—once “dude” and “bro” were said enough times, which I think was somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen times or so in the first minute of conversation—and mention real career goals, that were ambitious. There were also moments of sweetness and affection. No matter what age the man, I welcome his hugs and kisses on the head. But then reality would set in when his phone would “blow up” with calls from a number of Malibu Barbies or his buddies looking to burn or do more keg stands. That’s when it would hit me hard that while I did not piece this one together myself, I could definitely take it apart—at least the relationship. I couldn’t remove the eyes, smile and hat but I could stop answering the phone and go back to searching for something a bit more filling. Like the candy bar, charm nuggets send the sense of happiness that hits your brain and regions down south, only satisfy for a short time. When the glimmer stopped catching my eyes, I was able to see that this guy is … not prince charming.

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