Dating is good. Dating is nice. Dating is good, clean, American fun. But like a tilt-a-whirl operator who ignores the weight limit and admits the morbidly obese woman, poor decisions are sometimes made which can ruin the fun. And then the children are decapitated.
And nobody wants that.
I am here to help. I am taking stock of the recurring mistakes evident in dates gone awry. And be assured, gentlemen, you are not always at fault. Having noted my own pitfalls, I solemnly vow to correct the following: Indecisiveness. Poor diction of the spoken word. Inappropriate choices in footwear. Spilling stuff on your friends and belongings. Tardiness. Rambling. Peeing excessively.
But fellas, seriously. There is some shit you could really pay more attention to. And there are some things you DON'T do on a date. To any woman. To any sentient being, or plant. Yet you just keep bleeping doing them. I will get to those things, but first, the basest of sins. Fear not, gentlemen, for you could not top this stuff if you tried (or may Eywa save your soul). Allow me to introduce the ones who have gone before you. Allow me to introduce you to:
THE MEN I HAVE SURVIVED
These are real accounts, from real first dates. Yes. First dates. And to quote personal hero, Joel Derfner, "If I've dated you and any of these anecdotes seem to be referring to you, they're not. They're about somebody else. You were divine."
Man #5. Pretended to be deathly afraid of bees as a prelude to kissing me. (Offender denies allegations, claims actual phobia of bees. Otherwise, a delightful person.)
Man #4. Discussed his overwhelming suicidal thoughts. (again, first date. srlsy.)
Man #3. Pushed me into a full jacuzzi tub. Clothes on.
Man #2. Introduced me to his wife.
And the winner is...
Man #1. Locked himself stark-naked in my kitchen pantry.
Again. Things you should not do.
And for the hopeful, more things you should not do:
I look like an idiot when I walk fast, I get uncomfortably hot --in short, the Good Lord did not see fit to mechanically engineer me to "hustle". If you walk fast, it will not prompt me to walk faster, under any circumstances. If there's a fire behind us, then I will walk away from it in cinematic, sexy slow-motion, whether you like it or not. So go ahead and chase that bus, boy. I'll catch the next one.
DON'T: Blatantly ignore my long-ass, boring story.
I know, I know. I just realized how long I'm taking. I'll wrap it up soon, or find five dollars, I promise.
Agents can read my book. My mom can read my book. Friends can read my book. Crocodile Dundee can read my book. The Pope can read my book. Men I date CANNOT read my book. When people tell me they're reading my book, I feel naked. And that's super. I like that nakedness. I like it just fine. But when someone who intends to maybe actually see me naked has also seen me naked by reading my book, then that's like, double-naked. That's like being inside-out, test tube naked. I don't dig.
DON'T: Side with my mother.
Unless you wish to die.
DON'T: Treat sex like laundry.
All my ladies are harping about this one. Now don't get me wrong, there's a time and place in every relationship for sex of the 'necessity' sort. The "Late for Work Quickie". The lazy "Itch-Scratcher". The "How Long Have We Been Married?" But sex, however impassionate or impersonal, should never, ever be approached with a blase attitude. If there's a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of your bedroom, it's perfectly okay to say to yourself "Yeah, sure. I guess it's about time I did that." But look again! That's not a pile of laundry. That's a woman. A woman with feelings. A very attractive, eager, pounceable woman with feelings. Very important: DO NOT MISTAKE HER FOR LAUNDRY. You're a man. Statistically speaking, you are to be consistently excited by the prospect of sex with an attractive woman until you are 35. So if an attractive, amiable woman is available for sex, THEN BY GOD, BE EXCITED. I don't care how long you two have been banging. Unless you've been married for 75 years, you are to be excited. You don't have to pound on your chest or tear walls down, but you do have to show her you want her. She already comprehends that you want her, but it'll FREAK HER THE FUCK OUT if you don't exhibit the proper signs, regardless. For the confused, you may exhibit the proper signs by doing any of the following:
- put on some Sinatra
- throw her down on the mattress and take her goddamn clothes off already
And if for any reason wires have been crossed and you do not wish to pony up, then man up. Politely steer that girl home somehow, before you both make asses of yourselves.
Other useful considerations:
-Using proper written grammar. Please. Please. For the children.
-Flowers. Still classy. Still sweet as hell.
- Verbally remembering the occasional stupid little thing (i.e., a dress worn, a word said, a song liked).HEED: This can save you from any argument.
Me: "...like that time you mentioned Mother's alcholism at the dinner table!"
You: "YOU WERE WEARING THE GREEN DRESS!!! PEARLS!!!"
And bam! Argument over. Also, your pants are suddenly off. How about that. Good job, you!
- Clean up. I like a little scruff, but make sure I know you have a jaw-line.
- Make sure your bathroom has a trash can. Next guy to miss this gets a tampon to the face.
- This one's for all the women who are afraid they will sound shallow if they say it: For god's sake, TELL ME I LOOK PRETTY. I'm friggin' gorgeous. And there's positively no reason you shouldn't say something about it.
See? This stuff is easy! You are now officially ready to date me. Everyone's happy. Now go get em', tiger!