Nice

Here is a blog I started to write a while ago, but couldn't figure out how to finish. If you don't mind feeling like you've been left hanging a little bit, you can read this for a break in your day.

“Nice”, now there’s a compliment I could get used to. Thirty years of being “nice” is just the tip of the iceberg on this gem. When I hear its familiar rat-ti-tat-tat across my hull, I know it’s soon time to take a dive into the icy depths of never call me anymore. The razor-like chill of those waters is just like coming home. “Nice” is one arrow I’m glad to have in my quiver. Even better is when that supercompliment brings along its sidekick, the long drawn out “Soooo”. As soon as I’m distracted by the misty eyes and tilted head of the long drawn out “Soooo”, in comes a quick karate chop of “Nice”. If “nice” were a southwestern condiment, I wouldn’t be mild, or medium, but “Soooo”. Here are just a few of the perks of being nice. (Imagine me counting these out on my fingers.) First, I get to take out hundreds of other guys’ girlfriends so that they can make their boyfriends jealous that they’re not with them that night. Plus, I don’t have to waste all that money on myself. Second, upon approaching a girl, if I hear the word “nice”, I no longer have to worry about getting nasty calluses on my fingers from putting her number into my phone. Third, on most Saturday nights I can watch a nice game of basketball, while other less fortunate arrogant mysterious types keep those beautiful women at bay. Fourth, the few beautiful women that I do know would feel safe enough around me to cuddle up under a nice blanket and read a nice piece of poetry without any worries of wondering hands. Fifth, I get to be the backup boyfriend to hundreds. Not just plan B or plan C, but somewhere near the bottom of the totem pole. (Probably near N, for nice.) Sixth, married women tell me how nice I am, and at one point were even great enough to marry the teasing jerk to leave more of us nice guys for the rest of the girls. Seventh, great girls that I would like to hang out with think I’m so nice that they want to set me up with their friends. . . . . . trailing off into writers block, kerplooie!