I work in a children’s home because I’m a little socially clumsy and don’t have much in the way of a chin so I thought that if I worked in a children’s home attractive women would be like, ‘Oh, forget the lack of chin, you work in a children’s home? That’s so nice! Get you, devoting all your time and energy to the less fortunate! We could go for one of those Sunday afternoon things where we walk along the river and start holding hands as we head back to the car. I could maybe rest my head against your shoulder as we stroll?’
But it turns out working in a children’s home doesn’t counterbalance nearly as much as I’d hoped. In fact, it makes things worse.
Last Friday, for example, at a house party of someone I don’t really know, I cornered an attractive woman from Guyana in the kitchen.
‘So why would you ever want to work with children in care?’ she hissed at me, before scrolling languorously at her phone with her slender finger, making it as obvious as possible that the phone was not me. Eventually I pretended to be interested in the fridge and she slipped away.