You, my good man, are vain. With your swaggering walk and the way you dress, you think that any woman would swoon at the sight of you. But all they do is stare at your suit-clad self and your huge goofy grin. If you think they’re impressed, your designer sunglasses must be blocking out their snarls. You think your voice is to women like a flute is to a snake, a lure. The truth is hidden in the knot of your tie, behind the dark lenses of your sunglasses, the spot where your tongue meets your teeth.