Sympathy Dating 101
I FINALLY DID IT! Hoo-fucking-ray for me.
That’s right, I finally managed to show some testicular fortitude, stood up to the plate, and took a mighty swing for the stands. What am I talking about you ask? Well, I finally managed to invite out a living, breathing female out on a date. And I'm not just referring to dropping subliminal veiled hints and suggestions while she is concentrating on which brand of cola to select from the cafeteria vending machine either; I laid it all out there like Paris Hilton in a football lockerroom. I actually used the words "with" and "me"! Much to my suprise, I did NOT spontaneously combust on the spot, or fall down onto the floor in a fit of seizures. In fact, nothing out of the ordinary happened at all…besides her saying “yes” that is.
Of course, there was a lot of room for improvement in the future as it was hardly a moment out of ‘Shakespeare in Love’. But regardless, she said YES! And lucky for me too, as this bubbling crockpot of male hormones was just beginning to boil over in the wake of other recent dating setbacks.
In all honestly, for her it must have been a pretty pathetic sight to bare witness to as I twisted, squirmed, and stammered my way through my delivery like a monkey on a hotplate. But she still said ‘yes’ nonetheless and that’s all that’s really important for right now, right? Perhaps I should have made set plans with her, or choose a mutually appropriate time, or even maybe get her phone number; but I’ll be more prepared for all those when I next manage to scrape up enough balls in another 31 years to ask somebody out again.
Shit, even if she only accepted my invitation out of pure sympathy for me, I could live with that. She could have only been acting out of complete and unadulterated pity for me and my pathetic attempts at making advances, as she might have for a drowning rat, and I’ll still take it! I’ll milk every ounce of sympathy like I was working a Guernsey cow! I’m not a proud man; I'm a desperate man!
You have to play to your strengths, and if my particular strength happens to lie in being pathetic, so be it. PLAY BALL! Whatever works, baby…whatever works!
Obviously, my old standby routine of being "Handsome and Charming" hasn’t been working too well for me during the last decade or so, so it’s about high time that I change up my routine a little bit and see what I can rake in anyways. If this new being pathetic routine works, I’ll adopt it as my new sad and wretched dating mantra in a split second!
I’ll just resort to shedding so many tears while asking her out that it would instantly induce violent flashbacks in any Banda Aceh native. I could just lamely invite her over to share in a box of Kraft Macaroni and a little Kenny Loggins by candlelight in order to get her all overstimulated enough to let me play with her goodies. Soon, I’ll be reaping the pity sex by the dumptruckful!
I'm like Dating's Lex Luther!
That’s right, I finally managed to show some testicular fortitude, stood up to the plate, and took a mighty swing for the stands. What am I talking about you ask? Well, I finally managed to invite out a living, breathing female out on a date. And I'm not just referring to dropping subliminal veiled hints and suggestions while she is concentrating on which brand of cola to select from the cafeteria vending machine either; I laid it all out there like Paris Hilton in a football lockerroom. I actually used the words "with" and "me"! Much to my suprise, I did NOT spontaneously combust on the spot, or fall down onto the floor in a fit of seizures. In fact, nothing out of the ordinary happened at all…besides her saying “yes” that is.
Of course, there was a lot of room for improvement in the future as it was hardly a moment out of ‘Shakespeare in Love’. But regardless, she said YES! And lucky for me too, as this bubbling crockpot of male hormones was just beginning to boil over in the wake of other recent dating setbacks.
In all honestly, for her it must have been a pretty pathetic sight to bare witness to as I twisted, squirmed, and stammered my way through my delivery like a monkey on a hotplate. But she still said ‘yes’ nonetheless and that’s all that’s really important for right now, right? Perhaps I should have made set plans with her, or choose a mutually appropriate time, or even maybe get her phone number; but I’ll be more prepared for all those when I next manage to scrape up enough balls in another 31 years to ask somebody out again.
Shit, even if she only accepted my invitation out of pure sympathy for me, I could live with that. She could have only been acting out of complete and unadulterated pity for me and my pathetic attempts at making advances, as she might have for a drowning rat, and I’ll still take it! I’ll milk every ounce of sympathy like I was working a Guernsey cow! I’m not a proud man; I'm a desperate man!
You have to play to your strengths, and if my particular strength happens to lie in being pathetic, so be it. PLAY BALL! Whatever works, baby…whatever works!
Obviously, my old standby routine of being "Handsome and Charming" hasn’t been working too well for me during the last decade or so, so it’s about high time that I change up my routine a little bit and see what I can rake in anyways. If this new being pathetic routine works, I’ll adopt it as my new sad and wretched dating mantra in a split second!
I’ll just resort to shedding so many tears while asking her out that it would instantly induce violent flashbacks in any Banda Aceh native. I could just lamely invite her over to share in a box of Kraft Macaroni and a little Kenny Loggins by candlelight in order to get her all overstimulated enough to let me play with her goodies. Soon, I’ll be reaping the pity sex by the dumptruckful!
I'm like Dating's Lex Luther!
1 Comments:
Congrats on the date.
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