Ladies, get comfortable: I want to tell you a story. Not a story like the moon landing; no, this story is more like Happy Gilmore. Not because it involves golf, but because it actually happened.
It all started late last year. I was in a bar. This part of the story isn’t particularly notable; I spend a lot of time in bars, unless you’re my mother, in which case I was totally at the library. So anyway, there I was, ordering a drink at the library, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. This part of the story is also not particularly notable; you see, I have very attractive shoulders, and people can’t resist tapping on them. I may have also been wearing a cashmere sweater, which would further add to a third party’s desire to touch my shoulder, but I feel like we’re getting off track here.
Seriously, stop staring at my shoulders. Uh, my face is up here.
So I get this tap on my incredibly attractive shoulder, and I turn around and see a girl I’ve never seen before, which means I may or may not have dated her at some point. This girl that I’ve never seen before then clarifies that we have not, in fact, dated, and that I’ve actually been on a couple of dates with her friend, who is standing about ten feet away. We’ll call her Helga. I recognize Helga immediately, because I actually remember every girl I’ve ever gone out with; when I said that thing a couple of sentences ago I was just trying to make you think I’m cooler than I actually am.
In all honesty, I’m not very cool, especially for a guy with such amazing shoulders who also possesses a cashmere sweater.
Anyway, I go over and talk to Helga for a bit, because my incredible shoulders give me a lot of confidence, and by incredible shoulders I mean gin buzz. As it turns out, Helga is also a little buzzed, which is not surprising considering we’re at the library, and in her heightened state, she sees fit to ask me why I didn’t call her after the second date. This is an excellent question, and the answer is that I didn’t think she was all that interested. There are certain signs that I look for to gauge a girl’s interest, which I’ll get into at some other time, and she wasn’t showing any of the signs. I tell her this, and she looks at me like I’m an an idiot, which is actually how most women look at me, at least when they’re not staring at my majestic shoulders. I ask if I’ve gotten it wrong, and she gives me a very exaggerated nod. We make another date on the spot, and I confirm it on my way out of her apartment the next morning.
Ladies, if you’re still with me and haven’t been too terribly distracted by the godliness of my cashmere-clad shoulders, I’d like to share the moral of the story with you.
See, if she had called me, we wouldn’t have had this little misunderstanding. Yes, yes, I could have called, but just so you ladies understand, I’ve already put my fragile male ego on the line for her a couple of times at this point, and if I think that rejection is inevitable, I’m probably not going to bother with it a third. Too much rejection makes my very attractive shoulders sag. Again, I’m not absolving myself of all responsibility, I’m just asking to be met halfway sometimes.
If you like a guy, call him. Don’t feel like the fact that a guy didn’t call means he doesn’t like you; it might just as easily mean that he thinks you don’t like him, because holy shit you ladies are hard to read sometimes.
So after two lesbians go out on a date, do they both just sit around waiting for the other one to call?
— Bryan (@scenesfromahat) August 5, 2011