Aug 132012

Rejection. What a word. Rejection has been mentioned to me a lot lately and if there’s one thing a man fears more than being rejected, it’s being the one doing the rejecting. Telling a woman “It’s over”/ “I don’t want you”/ “GET THE HELL OUT!” is an overwhelming and frightening thought.

Now sending back an undercooked strip steak is easy: “It’s too pink”/ “It’s not what I wanted”/ “It tastes like barbecued Play-Doh”- whatever. If the steak isn’t *exactly* what you wanted, you’ll send it back all day- you know it. Then you also know a steak won’t punch you in the eye.

But sending back a woman?

Oh, golly. Quel beast.

Boys worry about hurting a woman’s feelings, making her cry or scream or give them one in the yarbles. Boys think that if they tell a woman she is not the one, she’s going to just FLIP OUT . . . lose her mind, start a rant of wild bitching, key their car and set them on fire. But come on.

On what planet in the world is this going to happen?

No offense to *you*, of course. I mean, I know you’re a KING, a STUD! All women bow down to you, you hunky, hunky master of the universe! But give me a freaking break.

I think she can handle it.

You, good buddy, are *not* the only fish in the sea and you never were. The “I’ll call you” when you don’t mean it is completely unnecessary. It’s 2012, the telephone was invented in 1877- that’s over 130 years of men promising to call us! You don’t think we can see through it by now?

The “I’ll call you” is actually counter productive, I may as well tell you. No man who has used this line with me has *ever*, EVER called me. In the history of everything! In my experience, when a man is into you, he doesn’t *say* he’ll call you. He just does it. He likes surprising you.

On second thought though, there was once this fellow I agreed to do lunch and a movie with a long, long time ago. He was a little cute, in okay shape, but obviously he thought of himself as Adonis on Steroids. He told me he’d seen me at the gym and wanted to get to know me, but that was all he said about *me* the whole meal- blah, blah, blah. I honestly couldn’t wait to get to the movie so he would stop blabbing.

When we got to the theatre, he suddenly remembered he’d *already seen* the movie I wanted to see. We walked around for fifteen minutes, looking at posters and trying to decide on another film; he’d suddenly already seen *everything*!

At last he decided on some movie I’d never heard of, but it wasn’t playing til midnight. He said we could go bowling in the meantime, so we then drove fifteen minutes to the bowling alley and sat in a parking space a long while. He suddenly decided he didn’t *really* want to go bowling. Then his plan became to drop me off at home, take care of some things, then pick me back up at eleven thirty . . .

Come on. You think I fell for that?

He dropped me off, telling me he’d had a great time and promising he’d call me later for the movie, but he needn’t have bothered- I forgot about him the moment I left. I got together with a friend, like hell I was waiting around for this phone call I knew would never happen! Except it DID happen. I got *this* voice message:

“Hi. I don’t want to be a dick, but I didn’t think we were a match, so I won’t waste money taking you to a movie. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings by rejecting you, but I feel bad knowing you’re waiting.”

I have never laughed harder than when I heard that. Ever. He not only thought I would be waiting for him, but he also thought my feelings would be hurt! I was beyond amused and sent him a mocking text about what a swine he was to smash my heart to smithereens like that when I’d already picked out china and told my mom about him! Practiced saying my name with his! The fact is I do not remember his name, it had probably even slipped my mind before he got up the courage to “reject” me over the phone (so I would not be able to cry and scream and kick him in the balls). If I ever see him again, I’ll bust out laughing . . .

Except that in a million years, I would never recognize him.

He was not important to me, but that isn’t the point. My point is that he didn’t have to jump through all those hoops just to “reject” me. He could have just made some excuse after lunch instead of driving around and changing his mind . . . driving around and making excuses . . . driving around and lying to me . . . driving around and putting off calling me, etc. All together it took SEVEN HOURS. And that’s SEVEN HOURS I will never see again. Whew! That’s a lot of time to spend with a self absorbed jerk who didn’t give a shit about me! Who couldn’t wait to get away from me so he could fry his puny unmentionables in the tanning bed!

Now please keep this story in mind the next time you have to reject a woman. Be humane and get it over with. Even if she does cry or scream or attempt to kick you in places you don’t want to be kicked, she’ll be fine and it’ll be done- don’t drag a rejection out for seven hours. Or seven minutes. Or seven years. You’re wasting both her time and yours, you pansy ass rat.

If you ever plan on listening to anything I’ve written, please let this be that time. Hear this now: Let her move on and find a man who treats her like the strong independent mega vixen she is, a man who doesn’t waste time thinking up new ways to reject her. The longer you prolong it, the more time you spend playing with her emotions and taking her for granted, not realizing how beautiful and smart and talented she is, the angrier she’s going to be when you come clean.

She’s a woman, not a pussycat- but believe me, she’s still got claws. Women fight fires, lead troops into battle! They climb mountains, build skyscrapers, join the Navy and sail the seven seas! She can freaking *handle* the fact that some stupid jerk doesn’t want her. And you? You big, strong MAN, you?

Half the time, you can’t even open a jar.

Give her some credit. I understand men are fantastic- you built the Eiffel Tower, you climbed Mount Everest! You won wars, fought plagues and a million times, you saved the day! I get it, man; you’re great! Dude. You made fire.

But the fact remains- if you were half the man she was, you would have broken up with her twice by now!

Grow some balls. Stop messing with her head. Peace.

Write a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *