My good friend Anita and I were at the Taste of Chicago yesterday after work. The crowds weren’t too bad – there were a lot of people as always but the lines were quick.
At one point there was some sort of disturbance at the egg roll place near the SW corner of Jackson and Columbus. As we were walking past there were three mounted cops keeping patrons back (I’m not really sure of the logic of using horses as a conveyance during crowded events but whatever) Anita and I didn’t stay to gawk.
As we were walking East, however, we noticed that there were about a dozen other cops coming from all directions towards the egg roll place. They weren’t running or anything, but clearly they had a mutual destination in mind. And that’s when we saw HIM.
I’m serious. This guy was SMOKING hot. He was six feet tall and muscular but not beefy, and tan with eyes so BLUE you could swim in them.
I smiled stupidly at him and nudged Anita with my elbow, saying, “Hello, Officer Hottie!”
She angled her head to look and her eyes widened.
“Oh my God!” she breathed. “I’ve been bad.”
“Me too. Very very bad!”
“He’d better come arrest us!”
We threw Officer Hottie one last, smoldering, lascivious look and continued on.
For the next twenty minutes we developed a whole back story for Officer Hottie.
He was our best friend’s younger brother. Yeah! As a child he’d been an obnoxious little pest, all knees and elbows, who would follow us EVERYWHERE. Obviously, the little dork had had a wicked crush on us, his sister’s cool, cute friends. But we, being the cruel cruel betches that we were, had tormented him endlessly, ignoring him unless we needed something carried or cleaned up.
But then Officer Hottie had grown up. And boy howdy did he grow up FINE. Suddenly, we were only two in a whole sea of lustful babes trying to tap his perfect ass. He was, of course, overrun with girls panting after him and he had no time for us anymore, which only made him that much more attractive!
And then we started discussing ways in which we might meet Officer Hottie.
“We could pretend to have lost our friend,” Anita suggested.
“Or,” I countered. “One of us could get hurt and need first aid!”
“Ooh! I could demonstrate my new Kung Fu moves for you and ‘accidentally’ break your ankle!” She seemed a little too enthused by this idea.
“We could pretend to be lost tourists! ‘Entschuldigen Sie mich. Wo ist die Bahnhof?’” I dredged up all the high school German I could remember.
Anita grinned, and then, deepening her voice, “’I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t speak Polish’”
“Ma’am!” I exclaimed, outraged. “It’s ‘Miss’ dammit!”
“He doesn’t look very bright.”
In the end, of course, we never found Officer Hottie again, but a part of him will be with us forever.
(I never said I was cool!)