How does a guy know when a girl is interested in him, and not just his steamy good looks? A guy has many tools at his disposal to test the sincerity of his dates. He can be lucky and have a physical defect from birth…like genetic ugliness, or a cowlick that just won’t lie down, or male pattern baldness. He can utilize supposed personality flaws such as talking too much about himself, giving a play-by-play sports highlights of historic cricket matches. He may even resort to dressing down for the date: wearing stripes with plaids and unmatched socks. In some extreme cases, he may have to fall back on more unconventional options. Sometimes a man’s smokin’ hot vibes will overcome any genetic defects, personality foibles, or fashion faux pas.
I believe that to have been my fate. I wanted a girlfriend: a sincere girl with a sweet disposition and electric sensuality…who wanted me not for the smoldering manhood they saw, but for the trembling child housed within. I had no obvious physical drawbacks, and I had the enviable talent of making the most obsolete subjects sound interesting at dinnertime conversation. My fashion sense, though off-beat, could not downplay my obvious physical charms. I needed a new tool for my arsenal of love. I needed a way to screen out the sex kittens and find the woman for me.
Here is how it all came about:
I went on blind dates while I was in high school. My best friend, Andrew, had the fortune of meeting his future wife (Andrea) at a young age. They had heard enough of my drunken diatribes about how I was not fit for female consumption. They were around for most of my early relationship disasters, so they looked to remedy that by setting me up with Andrea’s friends from the school choir.
We lived in a suburb west of Denver. Truthfully, good places to go out in Lakewood were gems: you had to mine for them. The best places to eat and go on dates were closer to downtown. Our favorite dinnertime destination was a small family owned pizza parlor called Frank the Pizza King. Yes, Frank truly was the king of all pizza. So we would pile into Andrew’s big red Buick: Andy and Andie up front, with me and a random date for the evening in backseat, and head out to Frank’s. The ride into the city would give me ample time to know whether or not the girl was for me or not just by the conversation we had (or didn’t have if that was the case.) When we got to Frank’s and ordered our pizzas, I would give the secret prediction on how I saw the night ending…
I would order a double anchovy and onion pizza.
That’s it. Nothing nixed the prospects of a good night kiss like my pizza of choice. Usually, I didn’t want that good night kiss from whoever I had come with in the backseat of the Buick. Once I ordered the pizza BOOM the date took the idea of the kiss off of the bargaining table. In fact with that she would usually retract the concept of either a snuggle, or more mind numbingly dull conversation.
This pizza had a magical quality about it. Not only did it taste good, but it kept me free of any romantic entanglements. The toppings on the pizza kept an aura of sickliness constantly emanating from my mouth, thus insuring another night of abstinence.
They should teach this in schools today, it would contribute to a drop in teen pregnan
cies I’m sure.
I believe that to have been my fate. I wanted a girlfriend: a sincere girl with a sweet disposition and electric sensuality…who wanted me not for the smoldering manhood they saw, but for the trembling child housed within. I had no obvious physical drawbacks, and I had the enviable talent of making the most obsolete subjects sound interesting at dinnertime conversation. My fashion sense, though off-beat, could not downplay my obvious physical charms. I needed a new tool for my arsenal of love. I needed a way to screen out the sex kittens and find the woman for me.
Here is how it all came about:
I went on blind dates while I was in high school. My best friend, Andrew, had the fortune of meeting his future wife (Andrea) at a young age. They had heard enough of my drunken diatribes about how I was not fit for female consumption. They were around for most of my early relationship disasters, so they looked to remedy that by setting me up with Andrea’s friends from the school choir.
We lived in a suburb west of Denver. Truthfully, good places to go out in Lakewood were gems: you had to mine for them. The best places to eat and go on dates were closer to downtown. Our favorite dinnertime destination was a small family owned pizza parlor called Frank the Pizza King. Yes, Frank truly was the king of all pizza. So we would pile into Andrew’s big red Buick: Andy and Andie up front, with me and a random date for the evening in backseat, and head out to Frank’s. The ride into the city would give me ample time to know whether or not the girl was for me or not just by the conversation we had (or didn’t have if that was the case.) When we got to Frank’s and ordered our pizzas, I would give the secret prediction on how I saw the night ending…
I would order a double anchovy and onion pizza.
That’s it. Nothing nixed the prospects of a good night kiss like my pizza of choice. Usually, I didn’t want that good night kiss from whoever I had come with in the backseat of the Buick. Once I ordered the pizza BOOM the date took the idea of the kiss off of the bargaining table. In fact with that she would usually retract the concept of either a snuggle, or more mind numbingly dull conversation.
This pizza had a magical quality about it. Not only did it taste good, but it kept me free of any romantic entanglements. The toppings on the pizza kept an aura of sickliness constantly emanating from my mouth, thus insuring another night of abstinence.
They should teach this in schools today, it would contribute to a drop in teen pregnan
cies I’m sure.
