“Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean? Or Orlando Bloom as Legolas? It makes a difference,” Julie stipulated.
“Seriously! Aragorn, Lord of the Rings – Google it,” Ni demanded.
“What about Hugh Jackman?” Anne offered, trying to bring some sense of reality back to the debate.
“Eh, a bit older, but not bad. I mean, I’d date him.” Of course I would. And then, I continued…
“Anyone watch True Blood? Eric Northman, Viking Vampire!? Love!”
That’s when things got a little heated…Vampire vs Werewolf debate ensued:
“YES!!! Look at him! That is man! No one could doubt it.”
“Ehhh. He’s all yours. I’m all about Viking Vampire.”
“Ha, I heard HBO is killing him off next season.”
“They wouldn’t! I’d stop watching. And probably write a letter!”
Always the peacemaker, J came forth with a distraction.
“What about this guy?”
“Hmmm. He’s cute. Who is that?”
“I don’t know. I just Googled ‘hot celebrity guys’ and his picture came up.”
In that moment, I’m pretty sure all 5 of our cycles aligned….which is going to suck in a few weeks when the school cafeteria can’t keep up with the demand of Chocolate, NOW, thank you estrogen, thank you very much.
While I pity anyone in earshot of our squealing conversation, the girls and I were enjoying our mid-morning tea break. Really enjoying it. After a particularly inspiring lecture on zoonosis, we were happily planning a weekend trip to Spain, possibly in search of the tall, dark and piercing eyed decedents of conquistadors. This, of course, had absolutely nothing to do with our Spanish lecturer, or, how when he started lecturing, the room buzzing with whispers: look, he’s not wearing a ring…Olé!
Not that any of us are here to get our “Mrs. degree” – though I certainly wouldn’t mind graduating as “Dr-Mrs-Erin-Dixon-BVM&S-Lt.j.g.(ret.)” if the perfect future Mr. happened to stumble onto my daily bus route. Ahem GingerMan Hint Hint. Still, the complete dearth of male classmates in our program is nearly as distracting as having our respective celebrity imaginary boyfriends sitting in the seats next to us, smelling our hair and copying off our notes. Le sigh.
Not that we’re going to vet school in a convent, its just that veterinary medicine is shifting (or has shifted?) to a woman-dominated field, thank you, Mattel and Veterinarian Barbie, I’d also like a kitten slide that attaches to my all in one exam/radiography table. Seriously. Someone get this for me:
Not to say there aren’t any prospects at vet school. We do have a picture of Ye Olde Dick Vet Hotties of the 19th century. Here, I call dibs on my man, precariously perched on the banister, possibly drunk, ready to whisk me off to romance and adventure a la Meryl Streep and Robert Redford in Out of Africa.
Anyway, with about 4 guys to every 40 girls in our program (that’s about 1 in 10 for those of you who prefer your fractions reduced), my fellow Singletonistas and I are getting creative and looking outside the institution of higher learning for the Sadie Hawkins dance this year.
Now, I don’t want to sound like the Single Girl Statue of Liberty, stalwartly holding a torch and crying out, “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…I don’t really care, as long as they’re men!”
That’s a bit extreme. I’m not interested in huddled masses of tired and poor men; Mama’s got student loans to pay, chop chop!
So, if any of you know of any huddled masses of successful men with yachts…well, you know where to send them. I’ll keep a torch in the window.