People magazine, the arbiter of all things sexy, has declared Ryan Reynolds as the “Sexiest Man Alive” in a recent issue.
Standing in the grocery store line, I bought a copy of People on the chance that it might have given me honorable mention.
It did not.
But I do know the latest on Lindsay Lohan and saw pictures of a number of celebrities and their children walking on Rodeo Drive.
I have a friend who knows about things sexy. I know this because she watches all those TV shows that come on about 7:30 each evening. I asked her this week where she thought I would fall on the sexy man scale.
She said I would be in the top third.
According to the best estimates, there are 3 billion men living in the world today.
With that information, I hereby declare myself the 1 billionth sexiest man alive.
I am ahead of several people, such as Carrot Top, the comedian, and actor Nick Nolte, based on his most recent police mug shot.
Being 1 billionth has not come with a price. I do not visit a gym on a regular basis. If I did, I might be 950 millionth or better.
Last week, a friend of mine called to say he had bought a ’Vette. Most people I associate with would likely be driving a Chevette, the now-extinct sub-compact made by Chevrolet.
As it turned out, my friend’s car was a 22-year-old, mint condition Corvette. He gave me the keys and suggested I take my wife on a Sunday drive. The drive was a deciding factor in anointing myself to this rank of sexiness.
The Corvette, with its sleek lines and fiberglass body, is one of the world’s great classic cars. Getting into one requires agility not typically found in the 1 billionth most sexy man. I thought I was going to have to call 911 to get assistance getting out of the car, but my cell phone was in my pocket and I had to get out of the car to reach it.
Once inside, the car was comfortable and the ride was incredible. Unlike my pickup truck, when you step on the accelerator of the Corvette, you move on down the road in a hurry.
I have seen men that are older than me driving Corvettes and I have a newfound appreciation for them. On the sexy scale, they are leagues ahead of me.
We drove the Corvette up to Cornelia, where I purposely drove past the plate glass windows of downtown stores. I looked at my reflection in the windows and thought I looked pretty good. I could have easily passed for the 750 millionth sexy man.
I know we’re a month away from the new year, but I’m now resolved to shed those pounds and maybe buy an ascot or a fashionable leather jacket. If I did, I could move up several million notches on the scale.
When I get there, I hope my sexy car is a pickup with a step to help you get inside.
Harris Blackwood is the author of “When Old Mowers Die.” E-mail him at firstname.lastname@example.org.