I discovered my sensuality in the Ratty. No, this is not a joke.
On a chilly Saturday morning, I sat down to breakfast in the Ratty with tea in my hand and hope in my heart. I was alone, and it occurred to me that I could read the New York Times while I ate. I grabbed the paper (well, technically just the Arts section) and began to read.
Then I became the sexiest woman alive.
It may sound crazy, but I have never felt more appealing than when I was reading the New York Times that morning. The act of holding an actual piece of paper and skimming actual current events unlocked a new version of me — my sexier alter-ego, if you will.
New York Times Kayla actually understands the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. She can (and will) discuss it at length.
This sexier me somehow pulls off incredibly risky vintage glasses. Unlike the unfortunate nerdy protagonist in so many teen romance movies, New York Times Kayla doesn’t take off her glasses and magically become hot. She amazingly becomes hotter when she puts her glasses on!
When you see the most alluring girl on campus reading the paper, you just know she does pottery in an ironic way. It is clear that she owns a typewriter and is working on a novel but isn’t annoying about it. She has an incredibly tasteful tattoo that you won’t know about unless she shows you.
If I were reading anything else, I would not feel so alluring, but the New York Times makes me feel worldly and cultured. The more interested I am in the hard-hitting news of today, the more the general public becomes interested in me.
It really is a perfect way to lure in the masses. With me absorbed in the paper, admirers have the opportunity to observe me and imagine our relationship ten years down the line. In their mind’s eye, they age me (in a flattering way) and superimpose a domestic setting. They imagine coming downstairs to see me reading in our kitchen, sipping a perfectly made cappuccino, hair in a messy bun, somehow flawless despite just waking up.
As I sat there that Saturday morning, I was just waiting for someone to approach me. Perhaps my admirer would start by discussing the headline and then sweep me off my feet. I truly expected to look up and see a line of people, as if I were doing a book signing. I would not have noticed my suitors because I had been so caught up in the most interesting op-ed. I would wait for the throng of people to approach me, each person’s marriage proposal beginning with, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I can’t help but notice…” and then an original (but not too original) compliment.
Much to my surprise, no one approached me that day, so I will return with my paper. I will not leave until someone approaches me… Or until I understand the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Whichever comes first.
