How do you measure up?

I catered at an event in San Francisco this weekend. There were 1600 guests in attendance- a very large, very crazy event. My responsibility was to man a knife at the carving station. Although the cutting of lamb, pork and turkey was a blast- there was a definite highlight of my night. I was stationed next to Julio, who is a complete riot. We were goofing off and enjoying the jovial mood in the enormous room... when Julio mumbles, "That's a 9." Huh? What? I sliced nine pieces of lamb? I started to look down at my carving station and he started to giggle, "Not that meat... THAT meat," pointing at an obviously very fit young lady. Just in jest, I responded with, "No, she's a 6... she's not wearing heels high enough to be a a 9." Julio's eyes seemed to jump out of his head at the comment from the 'goody-goody' standing next to him. I suppose he never thought I would be up for a game like this. With a look of resolve, Julio quickly rated another passerby. I bounced back with a rating two points above his. "An 8? You gave her an 8?" Julio jabbed. My response?- "Of course she's an eight, check out that amazing support with no straps in sight! That deserves at least one bonus point." He just scoffed. As the night wore on, our ratings continued to differ. It seems that I like to add points for a cute bag, high shoes, looking smart, great hair color, fabulous understated-yet, holiday worthy makeup, handsome date etc. Julio rated from the neck down, unless she was blond, then all bets were off. Once we realized how silly it was to be compartmentalizing people, we stopped (either that, or we kept getting interrupted by people wanting meat- rude, I know...) It was fun trying to be one of the guys for a night, but I'd prefer to cut meat in nonjudgmental peace from now on. My favorite part of the night, however, will definitely be when Julio left the parking lot yelling out his window, "Stephanie, you're a 10!"