My Flannel’s Sexy

Looking back on today, well not today really, but the last year, I’ve finally decided to wonder what Montana men find attractive in women. Well, not Montana men, but Western Montana men. Before I get into what I’ve deduced and how, I’ll start at the beginning. The beginning being, how I decided to wonder in the first place. If anyone has ever built a house, or even thought about building a house, you will understand completely. By me saying, it’s stupidly expensive, I mean STUPID. The astronomical amounts roughly coincide with attempting to actually convey how much a million dollars is to a four year old. Meaning impossible. Impossible situations tend to bring about strange turns of events, such as me attempting to be ‘sexy’ looking to contractors so they get the feeling that being on the job equates to the between rounds bikini girl at a boxing match. Making me the bikini girl. Which really makes me laugh, because the last time I attempted to be sexy, it involved a lot of polyester and beer. And maybe a little whiskey. And by a little, I mean a lot.

Which brings me around to what men in the construction business/state licensing reps find sexy.

Day One: The assumption that flannel is sexy. And not just flannel my friends, I mean flannel burkah. I mean, if I had a son, he would have said “Is that the monster under my bed, or my mommy?” I actually tried to find my boobs that day, and I had about as much success as a fifteen year old blind virgin. Oddly enough, I got some good information. Even some good pricing schemes. Concrete guys think my flannel’s sexy.

Day Two: The Health Department. Low cut V-neck sweaters and ripped jeans with long johns underneath. The I know where my boobs are, and even though my ass has busted through my jeans, I refuse to by new ones look. Works for the health department men. I didn’t have the correct information, but somehow, they figured out how to give me what I needed.

Day Three: The Building Department. Look at me, it’s twenty degrees and I don’t mind because I’m Daisy Freakin Duke. Really, talk the talk, and walk the walk, and say “I’m your Huckleberry” (Because there isn’t a person alive that doesn’t like Tombstone) and they’re putty in your hands.

All of this is well and good, but in the end, the cards are played and it’s time to face the music. I’ve got fifteen people at a potential building site and I didn’t use a ‘sexy’ control group. Mythbuster’s would be so disappointed.

So, the end result really has to be, the conglomeration of all of the above. Boots, cut off shorts, flannel shirt and a large flannel hat that covers your whole face as well. I haven’t completed the operation yet. I’ll let everyone know how it goes.