I always wonder what people are thinking when they ask me for advice. They must know that I don't have the sense that I was born with. I never did have the sense that I was born with.
My friend Rick is a great guy. He is smart and reasonably attractive (nothing that a little hair gel couldn't fix). He cannot find a woman to date. Rick came to me for help. I am always happy to dispense worthless advice and then cleverly turn the conversation into something about me or my shoes.
I told him that I think that men should stop hitting on women. I suggested that he go on strike for 30 days, just to see how it goes. Rick is the kind of man who hits on every woman in a room because it increases his odds of getting a little loving. He wasn't sure that he could go a full 30 days without hitting on a woman.
I like to hit on men. The way I see it, if I hit on a man, he can be certain that I am either a.) interested or b.) desperate. Either way, it's a sure shot. Sometimes, I am prepared to hit on a man and I have a pick up line all worked out. Other times, I am more subtle and I let my thong poke out of the back of my jeans do all the talking.
I am certain that if men just stopped hitting on women, we would lose our minds. We wouldn't know how to act. At first, there would be catfights; many shirts would be torn open. Then, those of us who are smart would decide to divide and conquer. We would divvy up the room into sections and claim our respective section. We would make our way through the room acquiring phone numbers and making tally marks on the backs of our hands. We would buy men drinks. We would tell them that they were different; not like the rest of them. We would become competitive. Men would get laid all the time with little or no effort.
I told Rick, that he could make a difference. He was special; not like the rest of them.
I turned my head so that when he tried to kiss me he got a mouth full of hair.
Men aren't ready for us yet. Sorry, Rick. Keep your head up. The wrong girl is bound to come around soon.