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So I'm in the library and I'm exchanging glances with this cute little gal with dirty blonde hair.

The flywheels click and spin, making their tinny rings. This is how I imagine my brain working. Like a tiny factory making thoughts like cheap furniture that you have to assemble with an allen wrench. You just know that they are grinding up rain forests or something else they shouldn't, like coral reefs or icebergs, to make their press board warehouse wonders. Nothing at IKEA is made in Sweden. I would hate to have the word dirty in the descriptor of my hair color. Like brunettes are filthy. A blonde thought that up. Their smarter than they let on. It's a conspiracy. The blondes secretly rule. Wasn't the Aryan Super Nazi type usually blonde. My God. We lost the war! Erotomania. That's what they call it when you project desire on any attractive person you happen upon casually. I do this all the time. I wish I could drink champagne from her belly button.

I walk past her and head out the door, figuring that's it, nothing mores going to happen, when she says, "Yoo-hoo! Oh, you-hoo!", which is an endearing way to hail someone you don't know, so I turn around, thinking she's thinking he's got a nice tight ass, and I go "Yes?" and she smiles and points to my pants and says, "You have a piece of candy stuck to the back of your pants," which I do, the white with red candy striped round candies you pick up as after breath mints at restaurants, and it's stuck to the back of my thigh.

Wow, that happened fast. Am I embarrassed? I think so, maybe a little. I'm more worried about where I sat on this candy. You would think I would feel it, so it must have been recent. But who eats candy in a library? Old men who wait for buses eat this kind of candy. This is total purse candy. Oh god, what if it was in somebody's mouth? Human mouths are the foulest around. They say dogs mouths are cleaner. Why would anybody sit down and figure that out? Must have been one of those weirdoes who let dogs lick their face. It should be safe. I don't have any cuts on my legs. The perimeter is secure. I always imagine germs having a sinister intelligence, like they can run reconnaissance and find breaches in the body to invade. Too many Health Class cartoons. Where do they keep all those filmstrips when they aren't using them? It must be a Board of Education warehouse, full to the top with dented film cans. How long does film last? I imagine there are some nice politically incorrect gems in that pile. Who says "Yoo Hoo" anymore? She must be from one of those films. Even this candy is out of date. Old fashioned candy that just doesn't stack up with today's modern super-candy. Not a lot of natural foods are blue. I wonder why? Man, I bet her ass is like a peach.

Not suave at all. It would be like if toilet paper had been hanging out of the back of my pants or something. Anyway, I pluck it off and throw the accursed sticky thing away and I look up and she's still smiling, but I figure, nope, I'm already looking like a doofus, and it's time to go, so I do.

Gawd. Now I'm sure I'm embarrassed. I look like some kind of nerve damaged troglodyte. How couldn't I feel a candy the size of a dinner plate stuck to my thigh? She can smell my genetic inferiority. Man, how do you broach the subject of ass candy? I don't know that I would have. On the upside, she was looking at my ass. On the downside, it was covered in candy. Ha, Candy Ass. This is a lot of ass talk. I'm really more of a boob guy. Boobs, the front ass. When I say breast, I always think of raw chicken. You just know some freak has that mis-wired in his brain and gets a woody in the cooler isle at the grocery store. I wonder if anyone has had sex in the grocery store I usually go to. Probably. I know this library has seen some...