When I was about 19, a read a book called “What Men Want”- three young professional men had written it for their female friends, simply to clue them into what the “modern professional man” really wanted. It was rubbish and I only read it the one time, but for years I have thought back to the part on how to act when a man hits on you, when he crossed the room to talk to you. It said to appreciate how difficult it was for a man to approach you, how much courage he had to muster. You were supposed to be kind when rebuffing a man, to tread lightly around his fear of rejection.
*My* thoughts on this?
Get the heck outta here.
Men put no thought into how they approach a woman. None. I know this because I get hit on every single day, in every possible way. I am not bragging in the slightest, I am not one bit proud of this- it’s not usually *me* they’re hitting on, it’s a pair of shorts or a skirt! I can literally *double* the amount of times I get hit on each day by simply wearing a cowboy hat! A freaking cowboy hat!
But alas! I haven’t been on a date since November. It’s almost April and that means I did not accept even one date over the entire holiday season. No Christmas date, no New Years date and I definitely spent Valentines Day watching Sleepless in Seattle with my dog. Even St. Patty’s Day was spent wandering alone in a “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” shirt with no one to kiss! “Why?” you wonder.
Well. It’s certainly not for lack of being hit on.
Boys, we have to do something about this. *I* am going to die alone simply because you idiots don’t understand that while I’m huffing and puffing on a treadmill is NOT the best time to ask me my sign.
Dude. We gotta raise the bar.
What tipped me over into writing this was a man who hit on me yesterday. I was riding my bike downtown when someone called out: “Hey, beautiful! Got a number? I gotta get me some of that!”
I looked up. It was the garbage man. He was hanging off the back of a smelly garbage truck, winking at me.
For real? Come on.
This is madness! If I don’t show you the error of your ways, who will?
Think of me as Leiutenant Dan. You can be Forrest Gump.
Now you listen to me, all you low life scum sucking maggots! Your faggotty ass is screwing with my destiny! Nothing just happens, it’s all part of a plan. I’ve got a destiny, you lousy puss ball! You are cheating me out of it! You are driving me closer and closer to the convent every single day! The convent is no place for me and my cowboy hat! Or I’m going to be an old maid! A librarian! If you losers don’t straighten up, I’m going to start wearing fat pants and watching *The View!*
I know these possibilities are scary, but what else am I supposed to do? I’d rather stay home with my dog and a tub of Rocky Road, watching OPRAH in a moo moo than go to a five star restaurant with that garbage man! Or that drunk guy who sits at the end of the bar, sending me endless coasters with his phone number scrawled in drunken chicken scratch! Or the guy who follows me around at the gym, using equipment after me because he says he likes to *bathe* in my *sweat!*
I will be back soon. I am going to teach you to hit on girls. You’ll thank me later.