Friday, January 27, 2012

Dyson Man

Despite the witty title, this story is not about Mr. Clean. The opposite actually. I met this "fine" gentleman at the grocery store. And lured me to his lair with talk of what a hockey fan he was. And for those of you who don't know, hockey is my weakness. Give me Ryan Kesler of the Vancouver Canucks any day.

I hadn't planned on sleeping with him, but I did. What a surprise.

From what I could gather from my surroundings, it seemed like a normal enough place. The shelves were a little cluttered, but there wasn't empty pizza boxes laying about. It was what I thought to be a guy's apartment, lacking the quintessential woman's touch. But the danger in this place was well hidden.

It started with making out on his couch. It wasn't the best make out session I've ever had, the Earth certainly wasn't shaking below me, but it was fun. And so as the groping and tonsil hockey (pun intended) went on, clothes were removed. Things were eventually relocated to the bedroom. Thats when I saw my first hint of what was coming.

As we were having sex, I looked over and spotted a large, incredibly furry cat. Cats are not my thing. They're awful. And with my head still turned towards the door, I spotted some cat hair on the sheet. But I didn't really think anything of it. Although I should have. Never trust a single man with a cat, especially a man with multiple cats as I later found out.

Half way through round 2, I suddenly had hair in my mouth, and I wasn't mine. I managed to get it out and's more cat hair. At this point I realize I need to get out of there. So he finishes and gets up to go to the bathroom. As he's walking to the bathroom a majestic flow of cat hair goes flying off his back and into the air.

He even brought up the cat hair. Saying that he tries to keep the cats off the bed but they come in during the day while he's at work. Cause you know, you can't close the door on the god damn monsters and keep them in the living room.

I realize that it's seriously time to go. I get up and get my clothes one. He comes back and gets his clothes on and walks me to the door. He was going to walk me back to my car but I was ok and he can stay.

Let me just tell you, if I didn't hate cats before, this pretty much killed any remaining affection. That drive home was miserable, my skin was crawling with disgusting cat hair. When I finally made it home, I couldn't get my shower hot enough to wash the feline and shame off.

And so my search continued (continues) for Prince Charming. And hopefully he'll a hockey god sans cats.

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