This is my favorite blog rant on why women love the UPS man.
You saw her in the movie Legally Blonde, right? The manicurist with the crush on the UPS man. Millions of American women can relate: we have a secret, shameful, UPS man fetish. Now, granted, none of us have ever had a UPS man that looked like that one in Legally Blonde. But even though UPS men on film are exaggerated in the looks department, is there any class of male in the whole world with more allure than the brown-Bermuda-shorted, brown-socked, occasionally hatted, UPS delivery man? My heart begins to pound whenever I see that brown truck coming up the driveway, being driven by him. And I pity European women who have no UPS men.
Or do they? This is a disturbing thought, because Frenchwomen might woo the UPS man with wine, the Italian women might ply him with panetta and prosciutto. The UPS man won’t stop for my warmed-over pinto beans and flat Coke from a 2-liter bottle that the kids didn’t screw closed all the way.
So let us hope that UPS has not gone global. Not that it matters. Even without competition from foreign women, my love for UPS men will be forever unrequited, and I know it. There is a sort of distancing manuever, a guarded friendliness, in my personal UPS men (I have three) that suggests they have seen every pathetic overture a lonely woman might make, and some from the men too. And every damn UPS man in the friggin’ force is married, unless they issue those gold bands standard with the uniform.
This, however, does not put me off. I adore UPS men. I worship UPS men. I’m divorced now, but I felt the same way about the brown-suited darlings when I was married. I would jump into the truck with the UPS man in a hot second and be whisked away to deliver packages in romantic Flatshrub, Kentucky. Kevin James in TV’s King of Queens can carry an extra 40 pounds around, be married to a hot babe way out of his league, and female viewers never even notice. You can get away with a belly if you’re a UPS man, or baldness, or, very likely, leprosy. Women find you scrum-tiddly-umptious.
I have some theories as to why UPS men are so sexy. As previously lamented, they are all married, and married men, as a class, have it all over the life-forms that you can find clinging to the fronts of singles bars, like fungi, from sea to shining sea. So, number one sexy secret of the UPS man? That oh-so-irresistible unavailability factor. Your UPS man’s been road-tested, in more ways than one, and some dame, somewhere, awaits his safe return. Prays for it, fervently, at her church prayer group every Wednesday night: “Lord, I pray for the safety of my sweet Robert as he does his rounds.” You also know–sight unseen–that sweet Robert has a picture of various and sundry rugrats taped to his dashboard, of whom he is the devoted father. He will not even look at you; he’s such a single-minded Provider. He will simply drop off your package, bask in your lustful admiration and thanks for 10 seconds, and be on his way.
But here is the second secret of his sex appeal: He is providing for the praying wife and the dashboard rugrats, yes, but in your deep subconscious left-over from the cavewoman days, he’s providing for you, too. Never mind that you paid for the merchandise he’s delivering. You even paid for the shipping, and through the nose at that. Some part of you believes, on a very primal level, that the UPS man is hauling life-saving provisions (okay, it’s ankle boots and a funky belt that you don’t really need, but that’s not the point) to the mouth of the cave, and setting them down in a muscular fashion. This triggers, in you, a response that dates from at least the Paleolithic, i.e., gratitude, and an intense desire to drag his brown-clad booty into the “cave” to show him just how grateful you are.
This begs a question, however: why do only UPS men affect women in this way? Why not male letter carriers? Why not the Fed-Ex guys? They’re always married, and they bring stuff to your door, right?
Well, I’ll admit that the United States Postal Service does have that old rep that neither snow, nor sleet, nor slush, nor sandstorm, nor simultaneous smiting by all of the above, shall divert them from their appointed rounds. That’s impressive. And Fed-Ex has much cooler trucks than UPS, with a blue and green on white color scheme, instead of yellow on brown. But a man from USPS or Fed-Ex would have to look like Brad Pitt to outdo sexy secret of UPS men number three: those brown shorts and brown knee socks. They are hotter than hot. They are reminiscent of Angus Young of AC/DC with his Aussie schoolboy stage duds. They make us feel all tender toward the UPS man; make us want to cook him a nice big pot of soup. Those darling shorts and socks make the UPS man appeal to women simultaneously in our desire to be pampered (with packages) and our maternal instincts. It’s a double whammy.
He’s a good, good boy, the UPS man, and you wish you could take care of him for just a little while, and/or be the one woman in the tri-state delivery area who is womanly enough to make him break bad for, say, half an hour. But he is always in a hurry, and perhaps this is his greatest attraction. He is a will-o-the-wisp, ephemeral as a butterfly. You get just a glimpse of those socks and shorts, just enough to drive you wild–and he is gone.
What about when UPS men switch to long pants in the winter? It doesn’t matter. We are still picturing them in those adorable shorts and socks. Which are–not to put too fine a point on it–the exact color of chocolate.
The UPS man: I could just eat him up.