Ding ding ding went the bell

While on holiday in Marrakech and Casablanca, Shannon and I discovered that the beautiful-ness of Moroccan men is not limited to those in Agadir. If anything, that beautiful-ness is increased the further north you go in Morocco. (I can't f-ing WAIT to go to Tangiers!)

We needed to communicate to each other the various sightings of said beautiful-ness, but we decided it would be indiscreet of us to walk around panting and groaning all the time. And believe me, at times, that beautiful-ness invoked a physical ache. Anyway, we developed the Beauty Bell System. One ding for a hot man, two dings for a super-hot man, and so forth.

After the first hour in Casablanca, I couldn't hear the voices inside my head because the Beauty Bell was ringing so loudly and so frequently. Not too long after that, the Bell completely broke for the continual ringing and dinging.

By the end of the week, Shan and I were spontaneously combusted piles of ash on the ground. Too much visual stimulation and our poor brains just couldn't take it any more.

All my single girlfriends, get your asses to Morocco.