BANISHMENT 9: The Belief that Sexy Men Don't Go #2

I have always had an issue with pretty boys. Sexy men. Ridiculously good-looking members of the opposite sex. They have this uncanny perfection that makes me believe they dry clean their socks and began flossing as early as their second trimester in the womb. I imagine they only grocery shop at Whole Foods and possess breath, regardless of pepper or onion intake, that tastes continually of wintermint gum. They always frighten me with their stud-like composition and I whimper back into my corner to brush my teeth, three times daily, like all normal human beings who suffer from bad breath syndrome.

Harry Connick Jr. is the ultimate of pretty boys. He has the kind of hair you see women swinging about in Pantene Pro-V commercials. He wears Gucci and Armani and can tell you the virtues of two-button, three-button, and four-button suits. And then he sings Ray Charles in a way that immediately makes you want to take said suits off him. He is suave. He is debonair. But then he does a remarkable thing: he talks.

I don’t know if you’ve ever carried on a conversation with Harry Connick Jr., but I am certain only one phrase could describe him after: cataclysmic goofball. When I saw him last night at the Ryman, he did seal jumps in the air. He spent most of the night perfecting his gay voice, while dancing awkwardly to grandfather tunes. It was fantastic, it was wonderful, and it made me realize something shocking: sexy men are humans, too.

At no point after the show did I wonder whether or not Harry’s breath tasted like mint. I was certain walking in front of it would be akin to walking by a Mexican Grille. And underneath that nicely ironed designer shirt was probably a beer gut in hibernation, waiting for couch and WHO DAT time to break out the bulge. Not to mention the mismatched socks that were likely incased in his shined leather loafers.

Despite popular rumor, ridiculously good looking members of the opposite sex are only a slightly evolved brand of the traditional male. They, too, belch, run red lights, leave gum wrappers in inappropriate public places and, most importantly, go #2 in the toilet. Thanks to Harry, I’m no longer scared of the sexy man breed. I mean, seriously. Who be scared of anyone who has purchased Febreeze in bulk?