Men's Guide to Women

When stepping out on the town with a bright and shiny new female companion there is all kinds of excitement in the air.

You are excited she said yes. You are excited because she looks ridiculously hot. You are excited because, well, you’re a man within sniffing distance of a female that you know for a fact is at least slightly attracted to you. No guessing on that one for once.

Even YOU look good. You shaved. Took a bath and even washed your hair. Maybe slapped on a little of that fancy “smellum” stuff. Hopefully, you were careful not to overdo it. Nothing like repelling the lady all night with an overpowering cologne fart cloud.

You have a great evening planned. A nice dinner. A nice movie that she wants to see. (This is the first date so no "Saw" sequel, no “The 300” walking around yelling “SPARTANS” all night because the guy in the movie made it sound cool. You will probably end up watching something called "Terms of Fried Green Tomatoes blah blah something Love something Tenderness, Bridges etc. etc. of until we all wear calico and dance like Laura Ingalls coming down a hill" – show.)

She will love the movie. You will hate it. She will cry because it was so beautiful. You will cry because watching this movie was like two hours of cutting onions and jamming them into your eyes. She will need to go to the bathroom, which is good because you have to get to the bathroom to stop the searing pain and possible blindness that can come with Onion Eye.  How do you do that?  Tweezers?  I dunno.  I digress.  There can be no crying when the lights come back up.

She gets back and asks you how you liked the movie as you walk back to the car. You could man up and say you would rather lick the theater floor as to see that fine piece of cinematic crapola again, but you won’t. You will spout off something profound like “Wow.” (As in I can’t believe people get paid that much make movies without giant monkeys, light sabers or dinosaurs) or the ever popular “It was interesting… When the girl… she was… I did not see that coming.” (Meaning the brunet was smoking hot, she was incredible in that dress, but she just kept talking; then she got naked with the obviously gay guy) After all, you want to make a good impression.

There is plenty of time to introduce “The Real You” to “The Real Her” on date four or five if you get that far. And, no, that is not the "Real Her" either. She is acting, just like you, except she is in costume.

Costume?

Hell ya, the push up bra, fresh war paint (aka makeup,) plenty of polish, a two hour hairdo with highlights, bleached teeth, possibly fake eyelashes, hair extensions, high heals that are kicking her little toes’ ass, fake nails and a fat squeezing girdle thing.  Click the logo for a related story

The evening is going fantastic so you decide to go have a coffee and absorb more of the delicate words and beauty of this woman. She quickly agrees.

When you arrive she immediately disappears to the ladies room again saying she needs to freshen up a bit. That is code. Her mouth overcommitted about the whole going for coffee thing.  Now she needs last minute emergency legislation passed with affirmative votes from her feet, toes, her hair, lungs, her belly trapped behind that girdle-thing and finally her face in the mirror to get a war paint thumbs up or touch up. Sometimes this can take a while. If she cannot secure consensus vote from her collectively tucked, painted, covered, gelled and powdered body parts, sorry pal, the evening is over.

During her absence you have time to reflect on this marvelous evening, how nice she looks and even that perfume she is wearing. It reminds you of something. She smells just like. That smell. It is so familiar, it is just like…

just like…

just….. like…..

you almost have it…..

Yes! Just Like what your evil ex bitch Jenny wore the night she ripped off her t-shirt, did a half naked keg stand, and slept with your buddy Steve in your bed while you were passed out on the couch. How could that evil boney-assed hag have done that? All you did for her. That stupid necklace that cost two months salary she just had to have. She said she would love you forever, not ride Steve-O on your new “Man” bedding and hurl in your bathtub.  She broke your heart; she was going to be the mother of your future jacked-up rug rats... She….

Snap out of it.

Finally, your new angel returns from the ladies room smiling, feeling very confident having just secured another 45 minutes before she will formally turn into a pumpkin or at the very least feels compelled to sling her damn shoes out the car window at a high rate of speed and use a butter knife to cut the damn life-choking girdle-thing off.

She wants to look deep into your eyes and focus on you, because you damn sure better be worth it. You order her a coffee; hold her hands looking longingly over the table at her telling how fantastic she looks.

She smiles.

Her hair looks like strands of gold beautifully glowing around her face…

She blushes a bit, and giggles maybe (consult your age chart here)

She smells just like…

She moves closer to you, gazing into your eyes, ready to suck up the next compliment…

Right now you need a diversion, faking a nose bleed, pretending to have peed yourself, almost anything would be better. Remember the time and effort that has gone into getting you this far… Nope you can’t help yourself… Here it comes…..

"You smell just like that stinky skank Jenny. My banana boobed ex fiancé that ripped my heart out, hiked her skirt and whizzed all over it by bumpin Steve's stumpy.  Steve was my best friend.  I hope she burns in hell for the evil she bitch that she is."

Yeah… you said that out loud. Now you try and recover.

"But you look lovely tonight. I am sorry I do not need to…"

Shut the blank up. This night is over. If you would quit looking all teary-eyed at your stupid cup of Mocha what-the-hell-a-late’ you would see THIS date is already out the door, standing by the car, and breaking out the cell phone in case she needs backup.  Or maybe that is pepper spray.

Leave your personal luggage at home. If you cannot leave it at home then you must stay at home with it until it is old enough to play by itself.  Break out the Xbox or just hang out with the guys. They can tell you to shut up or drink until you sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher.

She wanted your attention. She wanted to feel special. She wanted to feel like you actually cared about her and what she had to say. She thought you might have had some sort of long term possibilities and for the first time in a long time she was somewhat excited about a guy.

And before you go into your “Well what makes her special, blah blah puke” here you go. It is the first date, jackass. She gets all the attention, read the damn rule book (Man Rule #22). She gets to feel special, she gets to empty your freakin wallet, she gets to be complimented; she gets damn near whatever she wants because it is the first date.

She has also made sacrifices for you, too. She shaved her legs for heaven’s sake. I know you did not get that joke, but if your girlfriend is reading this with you, she is laughing her ass off. That one was for the ladies.

Anyway, captain bonehead, this night was a date. A date to determine if there is anything in common between you two that would make both of you feel like spending more time from your allotted 75 years +/- in each others company.

You screwed it up. Leave that crap at home. Puke it all out to someone more appropriate like your mother, your therapist, your best friend (unless that was Steve), your 2:00 booty call, or 1-900 talk. Whatever. Just get over it.

If you can’t get over it you are not ready to date again, so quit screwing up the dating pool for the rest of us. You have also damaged this little flower ever so slightly. If as a result you have lowered her opinion of herself where more of us quasi ugly bastards have a shot, thanks, but otherwise quit doing that crap.