Ask Drew: 5 Things You Should Never Say to a Man
"Don't worry about it! It happens to lots of guys!"
Believe me, whether or not we want to admit it, we've all had at least one horror story in the bedroom that still keeps us up at night years later. For whatever reason, things don't go as planned every now and then. For some of us, it's stage fright. For others, it's a combination of vodka and you looking way better fully clothed. Either way, there are two things wrong with that statement. First of all, don't bother trying to console us. The devastation we feel is on par with Hiroshima. (Too soon?) The only therapy that works for us is sitting in a cold shower and doing mental gymnastics until we've successfully shifted the blame over to you somehow. Trust me, everything gets put in perspective when you're naked in front of an extremely unsatisfied woman. And second of all, I don't need to hear about all the "other" guys this has happened to you with. How many boners have you killed, lady?
"You'd actually like my cat! It's not like other cats!"
Don't fool yourself. Your cat is like every other cat that I've ever come across. For some reason, chicks that own cats think they have that special ball of fur that we'll actually like. We won't. They're all the same. They knock crap off the table at three in the morning (causing me to grab whatever blunt object I can find and run into the living room naked, anticipating a thief), they attack you during sex, and they're never happy to see you when you come home drunk at 2am. Unless your cat can order me a pizza and let me know if you've been bringing other guys over to your place, I think I'll remain a dog person.
"So if it's okay for guys to sleep around, why can't girls?"
Because, that's why. It just doesn't work like that. I could scientifically explain why it directly relates to reproductive success, but let's look at it as it applies to society today. A woman can go into any bar and find a guy to sleep with, but it's not that easy for a guy. We can't just walk up to a girl and perch our cleavage on her forearm and bat our Bambi eyelashes. No, ma'am. We have to buy you drinks, lie to you, pretend to laugh at your jokes, etc. I can assure you that no matter how interested I act when you're telling me the story behind your tattoo on your ankle, I'm just going through the motions. There's a saying: A key that opens all locks is a master key. But a lock that opens for any key is a slut. Or something like that.
"Ugh, I'm gaining so much weight... I shouldn't have this, but I'm gonna be bad!"
Here's a new rule: if you're going to talk about how much weight you've gained, we're going to start agreeing with you. It's probably not true, but we're going to just for the sake of making this unpleasant for both parties for a change. Unless you're swelling up like an Elephantitis patient, chances are very good we haven't noticed a single change in your body type. So I'll tell you what: next time we're out at dinner and the waiter does that move where he holds us hostage by handing you a dessert menu, you can either decline without saying another word or accept happily. But we're done talking you into junk food just because we know that sex later that night depends on this silly little dance we have to do every time we pass a Pinkberry.
"I'm just like one of the guys!"
You're far from it. Just because you know the Cardinals bullpen and burp at the bar doesn't get you into the club. Have you ever followed a member of the opposite sex for six blocks in a different direction just to stare at their ass? When you were already late for work? Monday morning? You think you know how gross men are because you catch them looking at some girl's chest out of the corner of your eye and because their laundry piles up for days. You have no idea. Think you're "one of the guys?" Here's a fun game: think of some hot actresses and Google their names. More often than not the search bar will auto-populate to "[Actress' Name] feet." Do you think it's women that are Google-ing pictures of Mila Kunis' not wearing shoes to check out how her pedicure turned out, or could it be your boyfriend on a Sunday morning while you're still asleep and his mind started wandering while he watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall?"
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Drew is a single guy living in Los Angeles. When he's not bar-hopping with a friend's golden retriever to convince women he has a soft side, he's taking them on short-lived dates. His fickle dating habits and "perspective" almost guarantee he'll die alone. All opinions are his own. Got a question for Drew? Ask away... email@example.com