When a woman comes to a bar and is approached by men, she judges as to what floor she can take them. If he's good looking he's already a good elevator but if he hints that he's in investment banking or a music producer for Justin Timberlake, the elevator starts looking like one in the lobby of a Ritz Carlton. Foids just need to find the best possible elevator that will take them to the highest possible floor. They all line up and crowd in Chad's elevator, exceeding the weight limit. Women don't take the stairs, men do. Looks, money, status is what they want to snag just so that they can come along for the ride up up and away. Upwards social mobility takes men decades of hard work. A Stacy, or even a HTB who was born Trailer Trash can literally put on some make up and a tight dress, stand in a bar for a bit, and be approached by a milionaire. Ding! Ding! She's going up and she can hardly spell elevator. They get married and she lives in luxury and can just divorce him and take half his money if she gets bored.
Water, I know, but I'm thirsty.
Water, I know, but I'm thirsty.
