This is the first time I’ve ever seen you- and that car. I wonder if this is your first day on campus, or if this is just the first time you’ve driven that car to campus. I hope you talk to me. I really like that car.
Everybody loves me. I’m beautiful and everyone tells me this, so naturally I don’t appreciate it and don’t put any effort into my relationships. I don’t have to. I’ll just sit here, looking pretty, and everyone will come to me. If you don’t, someone else will. Or nothing will happen. I don’t care either way, because I have, like, the cutest little phone! And I’ll spend my time reading and answering all the texts that all the people who adore me have sent in the last five minutes. And someone else who’s willing to buy me things will come along. The glitter letters stretching across the front of my baby doll T shirt reflect my entire being: H-O-T-! So unless you want to live an austere, dejected, brutal, lonely life, and you don’t want a chance at this pussy, you will make the first move.
Finally, you’ve approached me! Now you have to say The Right Thing. Here’s the catch: I don’t even know what The Right Thing is! Isn’t this fun? Just talk about anything until you’ve hit my emotional G spot.
Some advice? Don’t be too nice, but don’t be a jerk. Don’t be too laid back, but don’t be too aggressive. Don’t focus on me too much, as that would be desperate, but don’t focus on yourself too much, either, as that would be selfish. Got it?
If you do things right, it should feel like you’re walking on a tightrope over shark infested waters and juggling at the same time. Oh, but don’t let me tell you what to do, because I need to feel you’re in control of the situation, Papa. That way, if anything goes wrong, I can blame it on you, Daddy. Also, I don’t want some wimp to buy me dinner!
After you’ve hacked into me with the right “passwords” and “codes,” and you’ve asked me out, and I’ve given you the cold shoulder and runaround for a week and a half, I’m going to reward you with the sheer pleasure of taking me out to dinner and conversation- your treat, of course. I’m going to order the most expensive thing on the menu and eat only a third of it. (I’m watching my weight so that everybody will continue to love me.) Then I’m going to talk to you about myself, my family, myself, the last item of clothing I bought, my interests, my tastes, myself, the cute little thing my roommate did the other day, and myself. Did I mention that I was going to talk about myself? And you better at least pretend to care, if you ever want me to use you again.
At the end of the night when you take me home (What’s with this car? Where’s the car that made me first see you?), I’m going to hug you and tell you that I’m not ready for anything serious, and I’d rather be friends. Translation: when the aloof, insensitive guy that I’m perpetually on and off with shits all over me again, I’m going to come crying to you and try to use you to wipe it off. After all, I bet you’re a good listener. Nice guys are totally emotional toilet paper.
Oh, and since we’ll be friends by then, I’ll see if I can con you into moving some couches for me that next Saturday. I’ll have another “friend” lined up that day; I think you guys will get along great! Of course, you will receive no compensation for this whatsoever- not even pizza and beer. This might make you angry. (Anger is, by the way, the only emotion you will ever be allowed to express again, unless you want to be viewed as a sissy.) However, you better not let me catch wind of your attitude, or I’ll be forced to tell my girlfriends that you’re “psycho” and that you’re only angry that I wouldn’t sleep with you. And I know everybody, and everybody loves me, so I can make sure you never get a date in this town again. So be a good sport, OK?
If you have a problem with any of this, it’s not because I’m cruel, dishonest, capricious, mercurial, cold-blooded, manipulative, or self-serving. It’s because you either hate women, have a small dick and/or deep-seated feelings of sexual inadequacy, have abandonment and/or attachment issues, have bottomless self-hatred that you project onto others to avoid responsibility, or all of the above. You should probably seek professional help- or call the Rejection Hotline, since you JUST DON’T GET IT!
After I’ve notified the Women’s Center at the university that you’ve been harassing me, and the police come to arrest you, and I’ve pressed charges, and you’ve been expelled, and I’ve destroyed your life, my girlfriends will pick me up to go shopping so I can take my mind off of how much all of this has hurt me, and how traumatized I am by your creepiness.
Men are such pigs!
