Like White on Rice

I still got it, y'all.

Last night I got macked on by an ultrasound at a one of Hyde Park's finest drunken establishments. He couldn't have been a day over 22, but his dance moves were nearly as smooth as his baby face.

I called him "scary Justin Beiber," a) because he was shiny-young and had weird hair and b) he was hitting on me, which was kinda scary because, "Hey young man, I'm old enough to be your babysitter!" (But the really hott baby sitter who let's you eat Burger King and text your friends all night.)

So he goes, "Who is Justin Bieber?"

Riiiiiight. Like he doesn't have My World 2.0 his iPhone. Then he told me I had the most amazing hair in the bar, which was such a true and authentic line (er, statement) that I let him dance with me some more.

That kid's gonna be a real sweetheart when he hits puberty.