Half-Naked Hot Boys. Why Does This Bother Me?

My indie-rocker roommate and I have vastly differing taste in men. Shocking, I know. Where she likes indie-rockers I go for the insanely unattainably beautiful side of the spectrum. I don't like men who could slap on some lipstick and pass for women, but I do like beautiful men. Oh, and hunky men. Nicely toned muscles do it for me every time.

Needless to say, in this case, the hot boys across the street I am crushing over do positively nothing for her. Thursday night we were talking when she announced, "Oh, Granola, you missed it. The boys across the street were doing yard work in just their shorts. They were so hot, you could see the blades of grass clinging to their sweaty muscles as they rippled in the sun." Let's ignore for a minute that she sounded like she was reading from a Danielle Steel novel and focus on what I was missing. Hello! Ok, in all actuality, I probably would have been majorly embarrassed to see them with out their shirts on. Not that I wouldn't enjoy the initial eye candy, but from previous experience (see the next paragraph), I would have been amazingly uncomfortable.

Last week, for example, I had to return a cookie sheet that we had borrowed from The Boys. I went over there, rang the door bell, and waited. When one of them came to the door he was in just his shorts. I was so surprised and embarrassed that I held the cookie sheet up between us and said, "Oh! HotBoy! That was more of you that I wanted to see!"

In retrospect, I should have enjoyed the moment for what it was worth, instead of making him self-conscious about the whole thing (which I apparently did).