Walking home after a night of drinking beer and watching football, Joe stumbles across his sexy neighbour trying to fix her generator. Drunk or not, he’s particularly partial to the damsel in distress:
“Can I help?” I offered.
Vanessa crouched over the generator, a rusted hammer in her hand, as she said, “No, I’m going to beat the crap out of this until I feel better and I’ll have a new one that works tomorrow.”
“You might not need to. I can probably fix it,” I told her.
“What, because blokes know more about generators and having boobs makes girls useless at telling when equipment needs to be replaced?” She rose to her full height, quivering with anger, the aforementioned boobs doubly so.
Those boobs may not affect your technical ability, but they’re distracting me from mine.