Oh man. Wait! No. Oh boy.

He walked into Starbucks- no, he glided into Starbucks. Gorgeous hair, gorgeous skin, gorgeous everything. His eyes lit with a haughtiness and apathetic arrogance that screamed sex appeal. His lips twitched up into a quirky smirk at each of the three women in the cafe. I became acutely entranced by the gyrating of his hips as he swaggered up to order. Four words jolted me from my reverie: "Hazelnut hot chocolate, please." And instantly, like the flicking of a switch, everything about him dimmed back as if suddenly he were far away on a rainy day, only his figure discernible. What type of man orders hot chocolate, especially on a day such as this, especially with the option of black coffee? No man. No man would do such a thing- a boy, certainly, but not a man. Suddenly his hair had a boyish curl, his grin a childish quality. His leanness became lankiness. He lost ten years with those four words.

Harsh, maybe. But nothing kills a checking-someone-out-buzz than realizing the man is no man at all, and that I have more gall than he will ever have.