Be my Danny Glover

With the World Cup going on, my classic-American-girl attraction to white guys with British/Irish/Aussie accents becomes even more apparent; I know I am far, far from alone in this, but having slept with more men than I care to estimate based solely on their accent, or what I've drunkenly deemed to be their accent (in the past, merely slurring the word "schedule" has been enough), I'd like to think that I'm one of the more devoted Anglo/Hiberno/Oz -ophile. A guy in a Jersey is enough to get most girls in a bother, but when I walk past a man in a bright orange wig and blue face paint, smoking the wrong end of a wet cigarette and picking out splinters of the chair he just broke at one in the afternoon, I practically need to change.

Someday, my love.

Now I know in the Darwinian sense of things, things would be easier for me if I was automatically attracted to a rarer subset of the population-I once lived with a girl who had a Canadian fetish, and she positively cleaned up- but you've got to go with what nature gives you. I'm not hideous or anything, and my fetish has been reinforced (ahem) enough to keep me coming back for more. Unfortunately, hooligans are an often-preoccupied bunch, whether they be busy with other bustier women or punching their mates in the face, and there's not as much of a mutual attraction as I'd like.

However, having lived in major cities for the past five years of my life, I have discovered a couple of groups that do feel the earthly pull towards my translucent skin and moppy curls. You see, giant black homeless men and 5 foot Latino guys love me. They follow me down darkened sidewalks, they stop in crosswalks, they they go out of their way to tell me what they'll do to me, presumably if I were to let them/they found me unconscious. They tell me "Very, very nice" and offer to take me places. Hell, I've been masturbated in front of twice, and I'm proud to say, within arm's reach.

They, I've surmised, must have a incredibly pale smallish white girl fetish, which I'm guessing goes as unfulfilled as my own want for hooligans. If only we could change our hearts' directions, so that I desired nothing more than a drug addled hobo, and so that they longed for whoever it is that fetishizes drug-addled hobos (Slovakians? Nederlanders?), then there'd be a lot less heartbreak in the world.

Mwah.