Romance in Numbers

     Despite its slight curve to the left, my dick gets great reviews from consumers.  In the right pair of pants, my ass has the potential to turn a few heads.  Furthermore, I enjoy the privilege that comes with being 6 foot, 3 inches.  But above all, my most complimented feature would be my "math".  I have sexy numbers.
     Every once in awhile, I'll get a random call from Detroit.  Not answering, I soon receive a new voicemail.  A young woman's voice records, "Hi Michael, my name is Trish; I got your number from your mother.  She says that you could answer some questions I have about San Francisco.  I'll be heading there soon and I wanted to know what kind of fun things I could do.  Call me back when you get a chance."  The message is a clear sign that my Mom spilled the math again.  Let me explain.  Here's the math at its most rudimentary level.

27 years old
divided by 0 children
subtracted by 0 jail time
Plus 0 divorces
multiplied by 40 hours a week of employment

(If they only knew about my many unknown variables!)

     I am learning that the right math could make a man's unsatisfactory features and prowess forgivable.  The right math can render ugly flaws invisible and body odor unscented.  To a person desperate enough, the right math could skip quite a few stages in the typically linear fashion of courtship, "Hello...Good morning."
     Although I enjoy the attention, I am becoming increasingly annoyed with this style of selection.  Mainly, because I know that certain figures in my equation disqualifies me.  I, being a polyamorous, bisexual man who listens to noise for fun, can be a chocolate coated headache for most.  The surface looks deceptively sweet.  The sum of my qualities looks deceptively simple.

Like everyone else.

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