He was handsome. He had the kind of face that had a rugged appeal. Slight 'bow' legs and that almost non-existent behind that let one's eyes remain on his taut muscular thighs.
At first glance I thought he was impeccably dressed in his blue Polo shirt, braided leather bracelets and boat shoes. I got interested and struck up a conversation about a bill stuck on the wall.
Two minutes into the conversation I thought less of his appearance, my focus stayed on trying to decipher his poor grammar.
I'm no snob.
My grammar is far from perfect and my pronunciation is whack, but if you can make complex sentences with minimum errors conversation would flow as straight as the stripes on my shirt and maybe we could spice things up a bit like I did with the colorful scarf around my neck.