It will go without saying shortly into this denunciation that I don’t think you are dear.
I’m using the term like an adultier-adult would when speaking to a petulant child, or like a southern woman says ‘bless his heart’.
Basically I think you’re a little slow and I am gonna need you to pay attention.
Because you are, and you do.
I want you to understand something.
I was privy to the message my roommate sent you in the morning before she sent it.
We often read shit aloud to the other to see how it sounds, check spelling or just because.
We live together, as in live, together. As in we are involved in each other’s lives.
So um, I was holding a bottle of nail polish at the salon as she read aloud your response.
Most of the other women present gasped or rolled their eyes, I threw up in my mouth a bit.
What she said, for the massive amounts of other people who will be reading this who were not in my house the other night, nor out for Korean, nor having morning coffee on the porch with us or getting nails did is that she “didn’t want to waste your time, that there was no connection, that you had more in common with her roommate.”
It was a gentle let down. For a minute there you were doing okay.
I tried dragging some conversation out of you at dinner, for a minute there too you were doing okay.
I was pulling for you.
I did so because I want her to be happy. She is intelligent, beautiful and charismatic as fuck, you just were not keeping up Buttercup.
Now, everyone else who reads this blog knows her as MY Sunshine. As in ‘you are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey’. She knows how much I love her.
Apparently you don’t.
Your selective boy brain pulled 2 words from her text. Roommate and connection.
Annnnnnnd … You proceeded to ask her if it was okay to message me and ask for advice on what to say.
Are you out of your fucking mind?
I am a practicing cougar and I have had my share of twenty-somethings and fuckbois, but even they are shaking their heads right now saying “seriously bro, that’s low.”
No, really, I told a couple of them and they said ‘damn that shit ain’t right.’
Let me be abundantly clear.
I met you as a lump on MY couch, snuggling with MY girl, in OUR house. You could be Channing Tatum and you would still have all the sex appeal and anatomical correctness of a Ken doll if she was the one who brought you home. Zero, nada, none.
Not my boy, not my toy.
She is sweet and kind to the boys I bring home because she is sweet and kind.
I try to do the same.
I took pity on you at dinner and tried to get you to say something, anything. Nothing more.
You mistook my kindness for what? Flirting?
You are the first one I have met that I didn’t feel like running down with my car.
The second ever.
Way to change my mind.
We share many things like shampoo and shoes…she borrows my socks, plucks my eyebrows and then draws them on again. She gets me out of the house and I keep her home. We have crossed many a roommate line, I scrubbed body paint off her back so she could get ready for a date, the bathroom door is rarely closed and for the most part we don’t wear pants in this house.
The other thing we don’t do?
Once upon a club years ago when she and I first met, another boy got both our numbers and sent us the exact same message minutes apart. Guess which one of us went home with him?
Neither, and I barely knew her then.
We have hit the point where when she cries I cry. Except it’s usually me crying because she’s tougher than I and now we are both laughing. At you.
I told you a story about a shitty boy at dinner and you what…had to one up him?
Point to Slytherin.
I am going to give you a little bit of life advice.
There was no connection because there was nothing about you to connect to.
I am great at small talk and that was like fucking work dude.
Read a book. Form an opinion of your own.
Don’t steal antiquated dating articles from the interwebz and tell it like it happened to you. That is a symptom of BPD. And a Big Red Flag.
Figure out who you are and what you are passionate about. Then do that thing.
Get checked for BPD
Then maybe think about dating.
No man worth having would ever ask he girl he was literally just dating to hook him up with her roommate or any other woman, ever.
There is an exception to that rule wherein I coached my ex with his current girlfriend but we have been friends for 3 years and I actually like him. He is good to me and NEVER TRIED TO FUCK MY FRIENDS.
I don’t even fuck my ex’s friends.
That is a good general rule. In this glorious age of Tinder there is no need to be fucking anyone’s friends.
Also, for the record, no woman worth having would agree to even speak to you after you dated her friend. Strong women who own their shit and bring something to the table are surrounded by other strong women who own their shit and bring something to the table. It’s a rule. I suggest you abide by it.
If you see either one of us on Tinder, to the left to the left. Immediately, to the fucking left.
My age range is set pretty low, my standards are not.
And no, I don’t want to be friends on Facebook.