It hit me about three months ago, as I stood in a room surrounded by dozens of very handsome, very driven and mostly, very good men.
“This is where it’s at…” I whispered to myself. How had I not thought of it sooner? A place 15 minutes from my house, free, and full of copious amounts of snack foods.
The entire six seasons of Sex and the City could have been reduced to one, quite straightforward scene, if the women had only known such a place exists.
And now here I was, in on the secret.
You want to know where all the good men (and women, depending on your preference) are hanging out?
They’re at the goddamn blood bank. Giving their blood. And maybe even their plasma. To other people. Because they’re generous.
Honestly, put a picture of some of the guys I saw with their sleeves rolled up and a needle hanging out of their arm on a billboard, and blood donations would increase by four thousand per cent.
Just look at Lincoln Lewis. Mmmm.