Brenda is an action movie: all special effects and no plot. … Lindsey has the esoteric cuteness that, given enough time, can lead men to full-on obsessions.

Listening to this floozy jabber about her time on a reality television show makes me want to use her Louis Vuitton handbag as a puke bucket.

As she twists her bleach blonde hair with her fingers, I try to figure out her use of the word “like.” I listen closely to her ramblings, “So, like, the camera man told me to spray the whip cream and, like, stare with a mean look at this other girl — who was a total slut.”

Brenda’s epic account of her brush with fame is interrupted by her cell phone’s deafening Young Jeezy ring tone. Everyone in the restaurant turns and shoots us the evil eye — or maybe it was the hook eye.

I sink in my chair as she complains to some “dude” who she obviously had a date with tonight — and who I’ve unknowingly ousted. Aggravated, I grab the bread and tear off a chunk with my teeth. What am I doing here? I can’t stand this person.

At that moment I remember why I’m here. I watch Brenda brush her hair behind her ear — one of those subtle quirks women do that drive me wild. The undeniable truth is that Brenda is hot. I’m the kind of guy who hates using the slimy adjective “hot” to describe a woman, but some cases warrant its use. This is one of those cases.

Yes, the all-too-common penis-versus-brain battle is in full force. Brenda is an action movie: all special effects and no plot.

Looking like a bobble-head doll, her cellular yammering continues. Everyone in a 15-foot radius is forced to partake in her recollection of drunken mishaps.

Her eyes captivate me the way any lighting emphasizes their rainforest shade of green, although there is yet to be evidence proving there is any depth behind them.

Another woman, Lindsey, betrays my urges and creeps into my line of thought.

After meeting in a class, Lindsey and I have bumped into one another during our nights out. We play off one another in our conversations sickeningly well. Lindsey’s wit is dazzling without leaving a pompous taste.

Her looks don’t carry the sense of unattainability like Brenda’s, but Lindsey has the esoteric cuteness that, given enough time, can lead men to full-on obsessions. Laughter and flirtatious gestures don’t end until our nights naturally take us away from one another.

Why am I with Brenda and not Lindsey? Human nature to desire what you think you can’t have combined with wanting the best of anything. Brenda is as dangerously close to my ideal physical woman as Lindsey is to my ideal mental woman. It sounds awful to break a partner down to a hierarchical checklist, but any relationship begins with comparisons to what you have experienced or seen.

My thoughts are interrupted by Brenda slapping her un-cell-phoned hand onto the table in laughter. The silverware leapt with a great calamity causing more annoyed stares.

There is pleasure in satisfying a primitive physical longing. But someone who can ease a metaphysical urge is unfathomably rare and incomprehensibly gratifying.

Before Brenda can finish her broadcast conversation, I flag down the waiter and ask for the check. I pay as quickly and stealthily as possible. I put on my coat and begin to slither away. I am three steps away from the table when Brenda tears her phone from her ear and asks, “Hey, where are you going?”

I look into those stunning emerald eyes. Smirking, I reply, “Meeting up with a friend.”

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