Looking poor?

A good friend of mine has a brilliant habit of saying things the way they really are. I appreciate that because I'd rather know the truth than live in fairytale world. Although I like fairy-tales, especially when they're sung by Norwegian Alexander Rybak ( oh dear the boy is a sweetheart and doesn't he know it!). But this same friend can also analyse me (and other animals) in a snap. She just sizes them up with the greatest ease imaginable, or unimaginable. Very convenient, it's just like having the world wide web all in one person, except that it's better because she can laugh. And very few people can laugh like that. Fewer people can make me laugh outrageously and have me smiling for a week after that. Well ok, Joe Demicoli can do that too, I wouldn't miss him for the world, and they call me a hamalla for that. Fine with me, Demicoli stays. But my friend also stays. Intelligent creature, a woman born with brains and one who isn't afraid to show it. At least I hope so. And while I keep brainstorming myself as to why certain things happen, she types it out in a millisecond. I'm not sure whether I'm pleased or not, but it makes me stand up straight and widen my eyes ... and laugh, because she's right. So I got the wanker. And I kept wondering what it was that got me a wanker in the early hours of the morning. I did not look like a whore, I sure didn't spell sexy, for Christ's sake I looked like a mum who barely had enough money to buy the bread. You see, even I sometimes give the Bohemian look a miss, when I drag myself out of bed, dishevelled hair, dissolved make-up (and no it's not because I've been sleeping), because I am craving the damn toast. Something so innocent like toast. I kept thinking what it was for three days. My friend got it in less than 3 seconds. I looked POOR! So the effing wanker thought I'd do anything for a 100 Euro. To him I was a poor woman, young (next to his 200 years), so I was a catch. Very nice I don't think. And it's not being prudish, not one bit. Had it been Sex and the City's My Big... I'd have been in his car immediately, even forfeiting the 100 Euro. But this was no Mr. Big, so pleaseeeeeeee give me a break! My other friend, supposedly also intelligent first got pissed off that I'd been hit on, even if it was by a 200 year old, then started thinking it was funny, because, according to him I put out whore vibes out there and they get picked up. He thinks it's very very funny, and pointed out that he'd also picked up the vibe. Not funny. So bandannas spell poor now. And to think I spend close to, if not more than a 100 Euro for them. Moral of the story, never look poor, even if your purse is overflowing, or you risk getting hit on by a wanker.