When the guy got his fingers tangled in the elaborate design of my top, I knew I had to leave.

The reason wasn’t so much that he violated my personal space, but more so that I was offended at how little game this dufus-maximus had. And, I certainly wasn’t in the mood to give a tutorial at 2 a.m. while enjoying the company of friends and Irish Car Bombs.

Now that I’m in a safe place and not wearing the equivalent of a spiderweb for a blouse, I will attempt to deconstruct where this poor guy failed – not to embarrass, but to educate.

Who am I kidding. The guy was a total douche. A perfect candidate for a penile lobotomy. And this is why:

First, Mr. Man showed up drunk. I know this is shocking, but, contrary to popular belief, slurring your name when you introduce yourself doesn’t make a woman un-snap her bra and introduce you to her girls – no matter how hard you stare.

Second, he showed up ugly. Not every man has the gift of good looks, but women give lots of points for effort if he 1. seemingly wears clean clothes, 2. appears bathed within a 24-hour period. That’s it. You don’t even have to match. You don’t even need to shave your ear hair.

Third, he didn’t get the memo. This is the hardest part for men with little game to get: Persistence only works in the movies. Girls that give you an icy response, that laugh in your face, that tell you they prefer women, and/or that walk away when you’re in mid-sentence, those girls, yeah, they are not playing hard to get. They are not even playing. Trust me, the classiest thing you could do is give them space.

Fourth, he accidentally copped a feel. I understand that when you’re at a club, concert, or sorority party, you may end up uncomfortably close to perfect strangers. But, at an empty bar? If you’re going to accidentally grab the ass of your target, at least make a scene. Fall down. Spill a drink. Don’t be that kid in the cafeteria line that pokes a girl’s butt with his tray and then blames the guy behind him.

When I pushed him over, he put his hand on my shoulder and that’s when his fingers got stuck in my blouse. He struggled for a while to free his hand. I thought about throwing a drink in his face. I thought about kicking him in his privates. I also thought about punching him in the throat. But, soberly staring at his sad existence was enough punishment for him.

Published by Mari

I was born with a widow's peak and a thick accent. I majored in English as a second language. I work (marianeladearmas.com) and travel (alittlecubangoesalongway.com) and sometimes do both.

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