I’m getting tired of these girls mobbing me all the time at nightclubs and cinemas and in the street. It’s both exhausting and annoying. But for some reason all of my close male friends do not share this viewpoint. In fact from where I am standing it almost sounds like they are ENVIOUS. ‘How do you do it, Tom?’ … ‘Why do all of these beautiful and nubile girls just throw themselves at you?’ … ‘Teach us your ways, Tom, PLEASE!’ At first I didn’t know what to say, but after a bit of thought I came up with a list, which I present in an – admittedly edited down – form here:
My Personality
I have a really fucking awesome personality. Seriously, if I had to make a graph of all of the compliments I get daily, compliments for my personality would definitely form the largest part of it. It really does seem sometimes that people just can’t get enough of me. I don’t complain. I can’t help it and neither can anybody else. It’s just a fact. I’m simply somebody that people Want to be with. They just tend to go up to me and just… bask. Meeting me in the street is the sort of thing that will put a smile on a guy’s face for hours afterwards. You know that saying ‘It doesn’t matter what you look like, it’s your personality that counts’ ? That shit is totally true. Of course…
My Looks
… are pretty fucking bingo too so frankly I have all of my bases covered. I’m forward thinking like that.
My Muscles
I’m not gonna lie, after all of the weights I lift and rugby I play, at this point in my life I am pretty fucking built. I can bench press two and a half cows and when I flex my pecs all of my clothes explode (a bit like the Incredible Hulk except less green and more Gorgeous Bronze). Case in point: the other day I asked my gay friend (who is cool) who he thought was better, me or my friend Max. To be honest it was a rhetorical question but I just needed it answered so I could humiliate Max a bit (he was getting pretty uppity and needed his spirit crushed a bit). Anyway my friend was thinking aloud and he said ‘Well, Max has a nice personality, but Tom has muscles’. THAT WAS A GAY GUY TALKING. Gay people spend a lot of time at the gym and so usually have muscles of their own but he still preferred mine. It was basically akin to him saying ‘I like Tom’s handlebar moustache, leather cap and crotchless jeans’. I have the gay vote. I think that the facts speak. For. Themselves.
My Chat-Up Techniques
The other day I was in our college bar and for some reason it was filled with beautiful women. Like, as far as the eye could see there were leggy blondes and tousled looking brunettes and a few obligatory ugly redheads to make up the numbers. This is not to say that our college bar is not USUALLY staffed with the finest female talent this side of Brasenose – indeed, the girls who I know who are likely to read this blog and recriminate me for my blatant chauvinism are all unparalleled beauties – but this night was particularly impressive. Frankly my eyes were like saucers as I wandered through. But then I realised that all of the girls were talking to boys. And the boys were trying really hard to be charming and to make the girls laugh. And they were succeeding. I went up to one and coughed quietly to get her attention but I don’t think she heard so I returned to my table and nursed a beer and rethought my game plan. And then I started to re-evaluate myself and my own chances with these girls. And I realised that being funny and charming to amuse girls is not my forté. It is not something that I am adept at. I really have to be On Form to be funny in a format that other people both understand and find amusing and 'get'. Usually I have to explain the joke and then, y'know, they're still LAUGHING pretty hard but it's not the same. And I thought to myself – these women, with their long hair and their bounteous breasts and their loose ways – they are not worth it at all. They don’t deserve to talk to me. So I stood up on the table and shrieked NONE OF YOU ARE EVEN WORTH MY TIME! and threw my packet of crisps on the floor and stomped angrily out of the bar. I saw on the looks on their collective faces that my ‘Play hard to get’ technique had hit home hard. It was one of shock, dismay and – yes – pain.
My Hair
IT IS CURRENTLY WORKING FOR ME. I realised that washing it makes it go all fuzzy and lame so I tend to just let grease and sweat build up on it until I can mould individual hairs like sculptors’ wire. Once it starts snapping off and blood begins to ooze from the base of my follicles, THEN I know its time to give it a cheeky going over with the Pantene Pro-V. Currently I have a wicked little quiff/fauxhawk thing going on which accentuates the rapidly spreading thin patches on the side of my scalp. I was thinking about straightening it the other day but it's a bit short at the moment so perhaps that plan will have to wait for a few months until it gets to shoulder length. And then I might tint it pink. Perhaps then I'll be 'cool'.
My Face
It currently smells so good. In the holidays I had loads of dry skin on my cheeks and nose. It was all itchy and peeling off and to be honest I basically resembled The Mummy except without his bandages. Anyway I took one look in the mirror and ran bawling to my Mum and she let me use her facial moisturiser, which sorted the problem right out. And then when I went back to college she bought me a little bottle of it. It’s pink and had ‘Oil of Olay – for beautiful skin’ on the side, but I peeled of the label and now it’s just a pink bottle of moisturiser. And now I smell like my mum. I am told that girls like that.
I am really cultured
I am one of those rare people who knows how to cut right down to the bare bones of any cultural morsel and get to the real MEAT inside. For example, I recently read popular cult novel “Trainspotting”. When I finished it I was like ‘I am so not going to do heroin’. It’s like the time I read “Germinal” and swore off coal mines for a whole month.
Also I have THIRTY FIVE Radiohead songs on my iTunes and I swear I will get round to listening to them and appreciating them any day soon.
My Eyes
Yeah, if I had to rate my eyes on a sliding scale going from One to Dreamy, I would be forced through necessity to rate them as ‘Dreamy’. I have been told that gazing into their transparently opaque depths is akin to sinking into a deep azure pool of the finest honeyed wine. Last term, the Cherwell voted my eyes to be amongst the Dreamiest in all of Oxford. This made news headlines back at home – “LOCAL BOY HAS DREAMY EYES – HOUSEWIFE SWOONING UP 40%”.
Also my eyelashes are pretty fucking badass too.
My Charity Work
I am a very charitable person. Today my friend Matt who is the president of some charity or other in Oxford asked me to help him make a poster advertising some sort of week of fun for charity. He gave me some sample pictures and then left me to think up some poster ideas while he went to get us some cokes. Imaginative and kooky guy I am, I arranged all of the logos at random across the page, and then wrote ‘thirsty? Some African kids sure are!’ at the top, and then a bit of clipart of a tap, and then ‘yay water’ and then at the bottom ‘GIVE US YOUR FUCKING MONEY’ in HUGE red letters. Like the letters were so big you couldn’t even see the picture of the tap. It was badass but for some reason Matt didn’t think it was suitable because he isn’t as forward thinking as me. So then we made a better one and he was like ‘Thanks Tom you’re the best’ and we high fived. I was so pleased with myself that I went for a walk. On my walk a guy from Water Aid came up to me and started giving me chat about African kids dying of thirst. I was like “I’ll stop you there,” and explained that I was assistant co-director of a major pro-water charity in Oxford and thus had already contributed more towards the whole water issue that morning than he would in the entire day. Then he tried to get me to sign something and I facepalmed him, screamed ‘NOT. INTERESTED’ then went to Sainsburys to buy apples.
That X Factor
I can’t explain this. I guess I just have it. You can’t fake that shit no matter how you train and practise. The women obviously just see something in me that they find irresistible. Perhaps I give off a compelling musk.
I have loads more reasons (I mean I could probably write a small novel on my ability to wink roguishly) but I'll leave that there for now.
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Are you a woman? Do you know any women? Do you have any idea why girls find Thomas so irresistible? If so, leave a comment and perhaps Thomas will breathe into an envelope and send it to you.
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