The Bookstore of Love
A recent survey confirms what some of us recently retired singles have known for sometime: Bookstores are the Great American Meat Market. In New York City, Barnes & Noble ranked as the top hot spot for Big Apple singles.
Not that Chase ever got lucky prowling Barnes & Noble, but I didn't need the observational skills of a detective to spot all the action going on in such haunts: literary-minded hotties casing the Mystery and Art sections, the furtive glances shot above shelves of books on wedding etiquette, home repair and Exercise for Dummies. As for me, I never reaped the orgiastic, page-turning bliss of bookstore lust. Evidently, not many women respond to the modest charms of a balding thirtysomething sitting crosslegged on the floor and giggling to the dirty parts of Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer.
Barnes & Noble spokeswoman Mary Ellen Keating told reporters she is not surprised by the stores' appeal for hot-to-trot singles. "We've actually had requests from people who have met in our stores ... asking if they could be married in our stores," she said.
A bookstore as meat market actually makes a lot of sense. With booksellers welcoming customers to loiter on the premises as long as they'd like, folks have plenty of time to size up the talent strolling along the aisles.
Moreover, by singles having the ability to hone in on a particular genre of book, they can send various subliminal messages to prospective mates, a book jacket of foreplay ...
Hey, look at me, look at me; I'm a sensitive guy! I'm thumbing through a cookbook. That means I cook and know good wine and want to listen -- really listen -- to how your day was.
Check me out! I'm browsing through the calendars of puppies and kitties. I probably still have stuffed animals on my bed. Could I be any more adorable?
Here I am in the Self-Help section perusing books about dysfunctional relationships and the pain of breakups. I'm on the rebound. My judgment is clouded by desperation and Xanax. You can have me for the cost of a latte and orange scone.
3 Comments:
Somehow I just can't picture you as a "balding thirty-something sitting crosslegged on the floor and giggling to the dirty parts of Tropic of Cancer." Okay, maybe the giggling to the dirty parts, but the rest of it? No way! Chase, you are a babe!
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I think I need to start dressing better when I go to the bookstore.
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