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“Hi, I’m an interpretive guide for the Truitt exhibit. What do you think of it so far?”
I looked over and saw a short, cute girl with a seeing eye dog in tow. At least, I figured it was a seeing eye dog because one, it had the telltale handlebar thing strapped to it and two, it was a dog in a museum, where pets aren’t normally allowed.
I scanned the nearly blank white canvas on the wall before answering her. “I’m struggling with it. If I had to turn this in as an assignment for art class I’d probably get an F.”
I was at the Anne Truitt exhibit, in search of beauty amongst blocks and drawings of lines. For those who aren’t familiar, here is a representative sample of her work:
Are you scratching your head? Keep scratching plebe. You wouldn’t recognize art if it bit you on the ass.
The short cute girl eagerly continued our conversation. She was quite earnest. I was charmed.
“Truitt was a minimalist who wanted the viewer to experience her work as an emotional reaction, instead of a visual object. (something something something)… it’s conceptual art that draws out memories in the viewer… (something something something)… and the colors are meant to represent just the color…”
As she spoke, her eyes looked directly at mine, as if she could actually see me. Her gaze was intense. It made me a little uncomfortable and I looked to the dog for reassurance. I began to wonder if she was really blind, or if she picked the dog up from the shelter and liked the handlebar thing, so she never removed it. In the middle of her speech, she reached down without looking and patted the ground with her hand, feeling for the dog’s leash which had moved a foot away from her. Yep, she was blind. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought about picking my nose, but checked myself. Some blind people have rudimentary vision. She might be able to see my blurry finger drilling into my blurry face.
She was such an engaging converationalist that I found myself fully committed to chatting with her. It didn’t hurt that she was cute with a perfect ass. If there was female game, she had it. As we volleyed back and forth on the artistic impact of Truitt’s bare bones oeuvre, I felt an old, familiar urge well up inside me. I was gaming this chick. Teasing, banter, light touch on her elbow. The raw energy of a possible seduction electrified the air around us. My crotch grew three sizes that day!
None of my teasing involved her blindness. It never came up. It’s funny how a rollicking conversation can overlook the most obvious questions, like “What is a blind girl doing in a museum giving tour guides of a visual artist’s exhibit?” Then I noticed something else; this girl was getting attracted to me through nothing but my words. She moved in closer, she smiled wider. But, she couldn’t see me. She couldn’t see my well-timed cocky grin, or my alpha body language. I could have been a potbellied bald leprosy victim rubbing my hands together nervously for all she knew.
That’s when it hit me. How, after all these years, could I have ignored the potential of blind girl game? There are so many fewer variables to worry about. No need for style, grooming, or calculated backturns. You don’t even have to smile. All you need is the seductive allure of your words. If you are a man with powerful verbal game, your talents will be best appreciated by a blind girl. In fact, you could easily score a 9 or 10 blind chick if your game is only good enough to score 20/20 vision 7s. Removing a woman’s visual judgement bumps your skill level up two full points.
Downside: When slipping her the midnight hummer, make sure to tell her it’s not a hot dog.
I bet VK has a lot of great blind girl jokes up his sleeve.