I am a pretty simple lady. You don’t have to do a great deal to impress me. I’m content with a good book, a scented candle and a few uninterrupted hours in my bed. As you can see from the above, I am relatively normal-looking. I am not of supermodel status so I needn’t be plied with gifts and empty sentiments; wined and dined at the most exclusive restaurants. Seriously, it doesn’t take that much to get me to love you. Mister dropkicked me in the back about a week after meeting me and I still love him now, six years later. I’m just not that difficult to impress.
And sure this is totally a moot point because I am taken but I thought I might just toss some of these gems out there into the blogosphere not for myself but for all the other women who deal with this type of crap on a daily basis and are harangued way more than me because they are supermodel gorgeous and have bodies that make men weep with gratitude and covert instantly to Christianity so they can give praises onto God for his superb craftmanship. I do this also for the men to who the following apply to and who are scratching their heads, puzzled as to why their game isn’t resulting in the amount of shed panties that they would like.
No need to thank me. I’m benevolent like that.
1. What is it about drunkenness that you seem to think I or any other female is going to find attractive? And I’m not talking about the merry tipsiness that comes after one or two drinks, where eyes shine and you’re just that little bit bolder. I’m talking about slurring, sloppy, on-the-verge-of-vomiting, keys confiscated by the bar staff drunk. Chances are, gentlemen, that the object of your affections will take you a little more seriously when you can actually pronounce and then remember her name. Be Sober..
2. Dispense with the chat up lines. All of them. They are not cute. They are not funny. They make me roll my eyes involuntarily. It’s actually a reflex action now. Try and be fresh and witty and original.
3. Do NOT – and I cannot stress this enough – mention ANY part of my anatomy. I don’t care if it’s a compliment. Approaching me with a grin saying “hello, gorgeous, nice tits,” is not going to get you laid, it’s going to get you right-hooked to the floor. And if the woman you’re talking to is charmed by the opener “nice tits” then that should be a red flag right there. Just sayin’.
4. When trying to enter into conversation, do not refer to me or any other female as: bird, bitch, pussy, meat, skirt, baby, sweetheart, and worst of all GASH (seriously, which one of you came up with that word? Find him and remove his gonads with a rusty spoon please). Surprisingly we do not like to be reduced to body parts or have terms of endearment massacred by someone who we don’t yet know. Thanks.
5. Don’t show me your penis. I might have been impressed three months down the line but chances are, even if it is of impressive girth, I’m going to mock it and you to your face and leave you there with your manhood hanging out.
6. Do not lie. And this goes for lying by omission too. I don’t care how smart you think you are, I will find out about your baby mother and your triplets at SOME point. So please be upfront so that I can make the decision about whether or not I want to pursue something with you. Also, please let me know in advance about any psychotic exes you have that might pop up and try to murder me for simply being seen with you. A simple heads up is just good manners.
7. Do not look back at your friends when we are talking and give the thumbs up or any such foolishness. When you turn back to me, I will be gone and your shame will be complete.
8. Do not ask me any intimately personal questions right off the bat. That includes how many sexual partners I have had, what cup size I am, if you can sniff my hair, if I am wearing panties, what I can do with my tongue ring (I don’t have one but this is an example) and any similar questions. I won’t answer you but I might, I just might hit you in the jaw and make your teeth click.
9. I’m pretty laid back so a first date could be a walk around the park sipping a soda but IF you are going to ask me or any other woman on a proper date, please make it a proper date. Don’t allow me to meet you in my sparkliest dress and highest heels only to have you turn to me and say “you look nice but that’s a bit posh for chillin’ in my lounge, innit?”
10. In the same vein, if you ask a lady out on a date, be prepared to pay. Most decent women these days will offer to pay half but let it be known that they should not have to.
11. If you would like me to approach you, a simple “excuse me” will do wonders for you. However, hanging out of your car as I walk down the street and saying “oi!” or “yo girl!” or “ssssss!” (yes that is a hissing sound and this has happened to me more times than should be considered normal in my relatively short lifetime) will get you the finger and nothing more.
12. There is such a thing as eye-raping someone. And believe it or not, we don’t all enjoy it.
- Good hygiene
- Pleasant conversation
- A hint of chivalry
- Following up (call when you say you’ll call and if you don’t want to call, have the courtesy to call and say THAT.)
Look, I could go on but I don’t want to belabour the point. Just don’t be a colossal buttplug and you’ll have some success. This is all common sense really. It boggles the mind that I have to say these things at all and I’ll be honest, I attribute some of the blame to the women who are swayed by the techniques I have listed. You women have made it so that many men think it’s normal and acceptable to say “aye girl, you’re top gash” and have no shame when they let it spill from their lips. So yeah, you women, you know who you are, stay with your men. I bet they’re prizes.
Anyway Lent ends on Sunday and I have so much candy and chocolate in my bedroom just waiting to be devoured that you’d think Haribo and Cadbury’s were going out of business. If I was really pressed for cash, I could totally deal sugar and E-numbers to the kids in my neighbourhood and I’d be ballin’. As it is, I’ll most likely just swallow a good chunk of it in a frenzied binge on Sunday and spend Monday feeling rotten.
It will so be worth it.
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Stereo. 20-something aspiring bon vivant. London based. Exceptionally Nigerian. Partial to snark. My default setting is "wry". Jeans and blazers are my uniform. Landlady. Speed reader, tuneless singer, hoarder of words, drinker of Schloer; I am suspicious of most people, have zero tolerance for tomfoolery, have a vast DVD collection, worship at the altar of Al Green, own too many bottles of nail polish, have small eyes, small ears and giant hair and owe approximately 86% of my awesome to the Parents Typewriter.
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