Avatar is still playing in the background as the beautiful girl sits, drenched on your couch. You stand underpants in hand, giving out the distinct impression your house may be contaminated with fleas.
You forget all about the film.
You forget all about pizza.
You forget all about the na’vi sex goddess on your screen.
The girl looks a little like Natalie Portman.
You've always loved Natalie Portman.
You're racking your mind for appropriate ways to ask her out. You understand that this is easier said than done when you haven't washed for a week and parts of yesterday's pizza are still attached to your tracksuit bottoms. First things first - dispose of the briefs and stop staring at her - drooling is not an appropriate mating ritual.
You signal that you'll be right back and you leave the room. You've never moved so fast. You locate and change into some jeans that aren't hosting specimens of food that you recently spilled down yourself. You spray deodorant, and hope to hell it's stronger than whatever it is your body is producing. You attack your head with a brush that simply gets tangled up in hair that could have done with cutting maybe six months ago.
There is another knock from the living room window.
You run from your bedroom with a t-shirt that doesn't have a novelty slogan on, half pulled over your head and open the front door.
From out of the storm bursts the pizza guy. At least you assume he's the pizza delivery guy. He has pizza. It looks more likely that he mugged the pizza guy, this guy is buff.
"Holy hell" he says, "boy is it coming down out there." He's standing in your front room sporting that, I'm drenched but I'm sexy, look. He is a good foot taller than you with a chest you could probably fit inside if it wasn't already crammed full of muscles. He's wearing a white top that is practically invisible after the downpour and his hair is reminiscent of 90's boy bands.
Plus he smells so good you could lick him.
Who the hell is this guy?