One of my female friends just asked me, “What is do-able?” She says to me that she was with her girls at the mall, and overheard some guys chatting about which girls were “do-able.” When they found a girl that was “do-able”, they would laugh disapprovingly. My friend understood the term, but felt there was more to it – and trust, there is.
I giggled a little and told her, “Yes, there is a little more to it.”
What is do-able, you ask? Some of you guys have been the victim of it once or twice. Do-able simply means your good enough to be laid, but not good enough to be wifey. You look good in a low-lit apartment, but in public you have to stand one arm’s length distance away–don’t want anyone mistaking you for a girlfriend.
It’s horrible, I know. But it’s real. Here’s a practical application of what I’m saying – myself as the example.
My boys and I get to the club spot around 11:30 pm and we’re all on the hunt for Miss Right, excuse me, Miss Right Now. We separate and scout the club like soldiers searching for the enemy. I strut my stuff confidently through the crowd gazing sexily into the eyes of each and every hot chick I pass. I sizing up my victim – whoever she may be.
After 15 minutes of being looked at repeatedly like I’m a troll and checking my breath over and over again thinking that may be the problem, I meet up with my crew. These guys have the same disappointing look as I do. Another chickless night.
Be we’re troopers and don’t give up that easily. Besides, we’ve only been there 30 minutes. The music is banging and the club is at full capacity. The dance floor is packed and I can’t move from one side of the room to the other. As I scan the vicinity, my eyes catch someone looking right at me, so I look back at her.
In an instance, I realize that this chick is, well…not my type. In other words, the bitch looks like a goddamn zombie. Face was beat up! She looked like a Yeti, but from the neck down she was banging. My boys noticed this and started cracking up telling me to go talk to her. So I respond simply with, “Heeeellllll No! I wouldn’t hit that with YOUR d**k, ” and turning to my other friend, “and you pushing!”
Around 2-3 am, everyone is leaving and none of us had an ounce of luck. This is where reality sets in. I’m horny as hell and the only bit of satisfaction awaiting me is the 3-day trial membership of my favorite porn site. Suddenly, that zombie-bitch I dissed hours ago wasn’t that hideous. And there’s nothing like sitting in front of your computer with your pants around your ankles and a hand full of yourself, saying, “Damn, she was to’ up from the flo’ up, but she WAS do-able.”
