Hey all! It’s not unlike me to let women in on a few secrets about us men. I figure the more you know about us the better off this Mars vs. Venus relationship thing will work out between the two sexes. Now its not that women have to know any secrets because, fact is, you guys hold just about all the cards and all the power if you know how to wield it. But still, sometimes you guys need a little bit of help along the way so here I am to let you in on a little something that you may or may not know.
Men, at our core, are shallow, crass, and liars for sport that love breasts and booties and don’t mind looking at either of them openly. There I said it. You knew this right? 90% of you did and probably were nodding your heads in agreement with every description I rattled off up there, right? Well here’s something else that you probably don’t know, and if you do know it then you’re not prone to openly admit it…Women are ten times worse at all of that save the love of breasts (dependent on if she plays for both teams – yeah, I said it). The only other difference is the vagina and the woman’s ability to lie more effectively.
When I was in college my sister had this champagne colored convertible BMW 325i. It was awesome; premium sound system, leather seats, power everything and usually during homecoming she would let me borrow it to roll around campus in. We would switch out cars and for a week she would drive my little blue Ford Escort and I’d have the convertible, and more attention than I would have all semester. Two stories in particular…
I was going to the post office one morning, top down-music up, and this gorgeous, I mean GORGEOUS woman pulled up next to me. Guessing she was about 25 or so, long jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail, shades, tank top, nice even brown complexion, she blows her horn twice to get my attention and then gives me the two fingered police wave into the parking lot at the mall and smiles. I’m 19 so I’m already excited, smile back and hit the blinker to make the right turn. She steps out of the car and displays long legs in some short white shorts and walks over to the car. I can’t remember her name now but she introduced herself, removed her shades to reveal stunning light brown eyes (not contacts, I looked for the rim around her iris), said that I was cute and that I had a nice car. Now remember I’m 19 and a sophomore in college home for the weekend and still pretty stupid when it comes to women. I thanked her for the comment and told her that the car wasn’t mine; her face dropped a little, noticing that I tried to fix it by lying, “It’s me and my sister’s car, we share it” which wasn’t a total lie but since I wasn’t paying any of the note it was a lie. She still asked for my number, I gave it to her and she actually called once, my mother answered the phone and when she handed me the phone she said, “Hmmm, some woman on the phone for you” without covering the mouthpiece. I never heard from her again after that conversation.
I brought the car back to campus in Statesboro, GA for Homecoming that next weekend. I played it right; I didn’t even go in any of the parties, just parked it out front – top down, music up – and sat on the hood with a few of my friends. 15 minutes later this pretty girl walks up, smiles and cuts right to the chase, “Ooh, can I sit in your BMW?” I hit the unlock button on the keychain and granted her entry. She settled into the soft leather seat while OutKast blared on the speakers, I sat down in the driver’s seat next to her and we made small talk. We were in a psychology class together I think, she lived in Winburn Hall which might have been problematic because a girl that I was digging on at that time lived in Winburn. But we wouldn’t get that far because…
“You got a girl?”
“Me? A girlfriend, nah. I’m chillin’.
“Really? Whose shoes are those in the back seat?”
Behind the drivers seat was a pair of high heel shoes that belonged to my sister. Dammit, why do women keep shoes in the car!? Time for spin control.
“Those are my sister’s shoes.”
“Yeah, she was in the car and left them…” – as if that wasn’t bad enough here I go again with this – “we share the car from time to time and I have it now.”
Conveniently one of her girls walked by to go in the club and she had to go. I did get her number but she didn’t answer when I called.
Moral of the story is: Just lie and say the car belongs to you and stick with it!
Those two episodes planted the seeds though. As I got older and bought my own convertible as a graduation present to myself after college I learned that as shallow as I was, women rivaled that and I knew immediately that it was going to take more than being a gentleman to get a pretty girl’s attention.
I took myself out to dinner the other night and nearby was a table of 4 women who were talking about men of course, in particular, about the fact that they were tired of men showing off what they had to get their attention. They went in with the “I don’t care what he has” and the “I ain’t impressed with his car” and the “show me what kind of man you are, material don’t matter” to which I nearly choked on my grilled chicken and baked potato. Now, these four dear women may very well have been the exceptions to the rule though I highly doubt it, bless their mega Coach bag toting hearts, but what they failed to understand is that men have been conditioned; every man has a “BMW story” that made him believe that what he amassed meant more than what he was composed of. A man can speak properly, open doors for you, be saved/sanctified/filled with the Holy Ghost but if he makes $10/hour and has two roommates he ain’t getting your attention, I don’t care how much you’re frowning and shaking your head “no” right now. And even if dude has a nice place it has to be REALLY nice, why? Because we remember that you like really nice stuff, nice stuff makes you happy, nice stuff turns you on, and if we ain’t got it, the next man does and you’ll go find it.
Because we know this, because we know that you’re just as shallow as we are we try to amass ridiculous stuff like cars and jewelry, etc. We learn to talk fast about what we do have and lie about the rest (which is counterproductive because women lie better and can see through it) and basically become human peacocks strutting around with all the stuff that we think you want to see ONLY to get your attention. We keep playing the mental film of our “BMW story” and put flash ahead of substance in order to simply gain women’s affections. I guess women do this too, or else there wouldn’t be a need for push up bras, huh?
So all that to say this, it’s your fault, ladies. You are all responsible for our obnoxious side, for the quick talker, for the gold teeth, for the chains, for the gentleman that you’ll meet tonight that spent his light bill money on his gear for the club, for the man on Saturday that you’ll see polishing his car for hours on end, for the guy that you’ll meet at the Super Bowl party Sunday that talks incessantly about what he has and how much he paid for it. For, you see, he has been conditioned by some woman that planted the seed that he needed stuff to get stuff and if you don’t have stuff then, frankly, go stuff yourself. So don’t be mad or shake your head at him when you see him strutting by, be mad at yourself…or that shallow woman sitting next to you. And if that woman next to you has jet black hair, an even brown complexion, pretty light brown eyes, about 5’10 and at this point in the calendar about 45 years old tell her Skrap said to go stuff herself.
~thanks for reading 🙂
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