My friend Nanea is breaking up with singlehood, and my girls and I are ready to help. Best friends since UCLA, we throw Nanea a wild bachelorette party weekend in NYC.
My group takes a bite out of the big apple. We shop uptown, dine downtown, theater on Broadway, picnic in Central Park -- good times, good times. Saturday night, we hit a bar in the meat packing district.
The joint is too cool for signage, but not too cool for us. I'm sporting a black lace tube top from Forever 21, and I am rocking that discount couture. Picture me... I look even better. Feeling feisty, I take the tiara intended for the bachelorette and wear it all night. Normal, no? Effective, yes? It's an instant conversation piece.
I'm meeting people. I'm making friends. I am in a zone. I even start a game of truth or dare. I'm the life of the bar.
Local boy Jake buys us a round and brings good conversation. We have one of those long ask-anything, reveal-everything chats reserved for bars in strange cities and freshman year dorms. All of us girls have boys at home, so the chat is for pure flirt's sake. We talk relationships, dating, hook-ups and land on what's our type.
Jake looks our gaggle of girls up and down and says, "For me, the perfect woman would have Shana's top, Nanea's bottom, Angel's lips and Carin's...."
Carin's what? My mind races through the endless possibilities. I've been working hard with my trainer and my little bod is working for me. So he'll totally go with my flat abs and tiny waist. Or maybe he's a curves guy, and is all about my swingin' hips. Oh, but men do dig my long, flowing dark blonde -- OK, fine, highlighted dark blonde -- hair. Hmmm. What is the sexiest part of Carin Davis? There are really too many to just say one. But Jake managed to: "The perfect woman would have Shana's top, Nanea's bottom, angel's lips, and Carin's ... ridiculousness."
My ridiculousness? Whatchu talkin' about, Willis? My ridiculousness? That's crazy talk. He might as well have said I have a good personality and doomed me to wallflower status. My ridiculousness. Ha! I am a very cute girl.
More than cute -- attractive. Yeah ... I'm like a model. That's right. I'm like a 5' 2" supermodel. I'm talking "Deal or No Deal" briefcase-babe hot. And yet you claim my best attribute is my ridiculousness?
Wait. Hold on. You think I'm ridiculous?
"Um, you are wearing an unexplained tiara," Jake points out.
I get it. Bedazzled hair wear is cool for Miss America, but not for me. Well, listen here buddy. There's nothing wrong with a girl having a little sparkle.
So I'm bizarrely outgoing, unusually uninhibited, and have been known to like center stage. A lot. But to say that makes me ridiculous -- that's uncalled for. And for your information, no one uses the term "ridiculousness" anymore, the PC phrase is "normalcy challenged."
Why am I getting so fired up? Why do I care? This is some guy I've known for an hour, not one I've dated for a while. I've got an amazing boyfriend at home who thinks I'm a babe. I think....
I drunk-dial my boy Scott and recap the night. He seems amused as I describe our social antics, public game play and the cheer I was dared to perform for the bar. Then I tell Scott about Jake's perfect woman. And he laughs, in a way that says Jake may have gotten it right. I am little ridiculous. And that's kinda hot.
Could it be that my looks only complement my true best feature -- my crazy charm? Interesting. Men find my charisma endearing, even magnetic. Anyone can be good looking, but I'm good fun.
Looking for back up on my theory, I poll my male friends and ask: "What makes a woman sexy?" Their answers: confidence, wit, intelligence and large breasts (OK, there's always one).
But maybe Jake and Scott are on to something. I am a confident, energetic, funny, silly, spunky girl and that makes me sexy. For me to think otherwise would be ridiculous.
Freelance writer Carin Davis can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.