Look out, ladies.
I'm heading out to the mall to scope chicks.
That's right. I'm going to plant myself firmly between the Orange Julius and the Lady Footlocker and scope the hell out of some chicks. Let me tell you, you better just gird your loins, because you have no idea of the scoping you're in for.
This morning, I got up, took a shower, doused myself in an appropriate amount of Polo, grabbed my favorite windbreaker, and I am on my way. Don't worry, I didn't forget the mirrored sunglasses. I mean, seriously, you can't get into heavy-duty chick-scoping without the mirrored sunglasses. A pair of sharp mirrored sunglasses really does complete the ensemble, in my humble opinion. In fact, I don't think you can really say you're scoping chicks if you don't have a pair. That's like playing baseball with a golf club - it just doesn't make sense.
Not to worry, I've been growing in my official Tom Selleck Mustache (TM) for a couple of weeks now, and my chest-hair implants really seem to be taking hold. Resistance is futile. There you will be, minding your own business outside of the Burlington Coat Factory, when suddenly, breaking through the aromas of Panda Express and Auntie Anne's Pretzels, you will sense a rush of excitment in the air that gives your nethers a nice how-do-you-do. Soon, you will see me sitting there, windbreaker, sunglasses and chesthair. You will find any reason to walk past me several times. Don't be shy or embarassed - you certainly won't be the first, nor the last.
Last time I went out to scope chicks, I saw a high school kid trying his luck. It was a little sad, but it did make me smile. He was making the same rookie mistakes I used to make. I can remember trying to scope chicks while walking around the Chess King back in '86. Rule #1 of Chick Scoping: Never Scope Chicks While Shopping. I learned the hard way that you can't really scope chicks to your fullest potential when you can easily be distracted by skinny ties and parachute pants. That's why all scoping must be done while seated. It gives you that "I'm too cool to be here in the mall" vibe that the chicks really pick up on and dig. Plus, it gives you the chance to cross your leg and expose a little flesh. Chicks dig leg hair.
I did get a little melancholy, though. I looked around, and was shocked to realize that I was really the only one committing to scoping chicks. I mean, my teenaged friend was giving it the ol' college try, but really, you can only get so far while wearing a backwards baseball cap (Note to teenagers: wearing a baseball cap sideways doesn't make you look cool. It makes you look like a reject from Hee Haw. Chicks definitely don't dig Hee Haw.). I mean, I was the only one sitting there. Sure, there were a couple of old guys waiting for their wives to come out of the Lane Bryant, but they clearly weren't there to scope chicks. They were simply tired. That kind of depressed me and made me miss the chick scopers from back in the day.
Yeah, I suppose I could stop. I could be responsible. I could settle down. But where's the fun in that, I ask. It's a fine tradition, and I plan to go down scoping. Perhaps someday, people will talk about a mysterious mirror-shaded man who sat on a throne in the universal gathering place. A man who made the men jealous and the women swoon. A man who smelled like a man should. A man who could part the crowds when he entered and could disappear before you knew it. A manly man. A man who would scope.
Scope like the wind.