On Hot Chicks

My friends have raised an interesting question:

Where the hell do hot chicks go in the winter? Do they just disappear? And how is it that as soon as the weather turns even remotely nice they instantly appear in their booty shorts? Is it magic? Are they familiars to a secret cabal of wizards?

But they're right. When the weather turns cold, attractive girls just seam to fade into their parkas. Guys subside on t-shirts and the occasional polo all year long, so by the time Spring rolls around and we're thinking about breaking out a baseball because–face it–we haven't seen anything else worth our attentions for six months, BAM! That's when the sluts appear.

And no, they're not exactly sluts. Not all of them, at least. It's just after such a dearth of toned shoulders and bare skin we're suddenly inundated with it as every woman even halfway attractive immediately jumps at the first chance to show off what she's priming for beach season.

Still, we know some of these women. Someone knows them, at least. They don't transform into disfigured monsters like Dr. Jekyll that first chilly week in October. They have to go somewhere.

So this is my theory:

Hot chicks are like bears.

Yes, you can make a kind of "they're cool to look at but stand next to one and you'll just yammer and stammer and wet yourself in terror and then run away" analogy. Or, sure, you could equate her BFFs to a she-bear's little cubs and realize that to in any way get near them will result in Momma Bear going completely feral and mauling you into a bloody stump what was once a man.

But here's the real truth: attractive women hibernate. Every fall the gorgeous girl you mooned over all Summer returns to school or work or wherever it is she spends the part of her life that isn't a vacation and she prepares for the Winter months.

If she is in college she puts on what is called the "Freshman Fifteen," approximately seven kilos of pure Hot Pocket and wraps herself in a warm bed, surrounding herself with blankets, snacks, multiple seasons of "progressive" women's television shows on DVD and possibly an ill-conceived Walmart beta fish which will die within six weeks. The few times that she does wander out of her nest in the Winter, it will be grudgingly, angrily, and hungrily, lashing out at those around her and fighting willingly for even the meagerest scrap of high-protein sustenance.

Towards the tail-end of Winter, Hot Girl will begin to stir in her hovel, the last episodes of her Grey's Anatomy boxed set drawing to a close without that one perfect kiss between McDreamy and that chisel-faced blond twig the show is named for. She will slowly start to spend more time outside of her cave and interacting with other creatures, even taking physical care of herself again. She will refuse to be seen looking like a looser in over-sized hoodies and track pants, unshowered and unkempt. Eventually–and usually secretly–she will begin the arduous process of "getting ready for the beach," which is actually a bizarre ritual comprising poorly-executed remedial components of yoga, aerobics, cardio and awkward giggling, followed by a massive calorie burn through all the complaining she'll do about not being able to eat [X] anymore.

However all of this is worth it, as come the first sunny day of Spring, Hot Chick will shed her outer layers of gosling-down pillow puff and slogan-ized ass sweat pants for a pink tank top and a pair of slogan-ized ass short shorts. Who wears short shorts? Sluts wear short shorts. But that's fine. Hot Chick is not actually a slut.

What she is doing is called "peacocking," or "presenting." She is showing off absolutely all the goods at once, putting the milk up on the auction block to see who is interested in actually buying the cow. She only looks like a slut because she wants your attention like a slut.

Mostly, she is actually very selective in whom she will go back to another cave with (hers is still in disarray), though the first few prospective mates each season will more readily be able to tap into her absolutely disgusting, filthy bed-lust through sheer virtue of not being the eightieth suitor to approach her that week.

Prairiedogging like Punxsutawney Phil from their burrows of sloth and unattractiveness, Hot Chicks reemerge each Spring to flaunt and taunt men with their hotness, gaining some sick, twisted joy that will alleviate the many months of feeling like a fat, gross cow sitting alone in her room and wondering why she doesn't have anyone to treat her like McDreamy would or her father never did and mommy said she'd never find.

Either that or they all migrate South or something.

Like geese.