Men. There should seriously be a Users Guide. Despite my ability to put pen to paper, however, I’m certainly not offering to write the thing, because when it comes to understanding the strange and mysterious creatures of the Y-chromosome, I am one baffled baboon.
I have a theory that whoever it is that controls this universe of ours (or at least mine) is a big fan of the Adventures of Naughty Miss Jones. Huge. Cos he/ she, instead of making my life simple, instead of putting me in lovely boy-meets-girl-boy-likes-girl-girl-likes-boy-amazing-sex-happily-ever-after situations, throws a continual barrage of weird and frustrating man-incidences my way, just (if my theory is correct) so I continually have something to write about.
Take man P. I had known him for quite a while, and had developed a mighty big crush. The type of crush that induces red blotchyness and complete word vomit (which I’m pretty sure the controller decided to inflict on me for his/her reading pleasure… and just to be a smart arse). Anyway, I had thought nothing would come of it, until one day, after knowing me for some time, he asked for my personal details. And so the fun times, the barrage of communications and the witty banter began. Until, abruptly, it didn’t. Yep, man P simply fell off the face off the earth, and stopped responding to me (I even committed the textual crime of double texting in my frustration!). It stung, so I consoled myself by deciding he must have actually died. RIP man P (you big meanie, you).
Take also man A. I had been out with him a couple of times over Christmas, but the last time I saw him found him to be quite rude, and so I didn’t see him again. Until out of the blue he contacted me recently. A few texts were exchanged. I convinced myself he was being lovely again, and that the rudeness I had encountered the last time I saw him was probably just a case of male PMS. So I agreed to see him again. A day was set. A rough time and location were set.
Until the day of, when I sent him a message just confirming details, only to be told we would ‘have to do another time’. Um, OK, sorry who contacted who and asked to see them?
Then there was man blue eyes (I don’t know his name, so I’m going with a description instead). On Sunday I enjoyed a few cheeky bevvies at a Surry Hills pub with a good friend, and got that ‘being watched’ feeling. I looked up to a bona-fide hottie, who smiled cheekily and looked back down into his beer from a few tables away. Over the next hour or so many a ‘look’ were exchanged, every time I looked up, there were those lovely ol’ blue eyes looking at me suggestively. So I decided to grow some balls, and do something about it. But, alas, turns out he had a girlfriend. Seems this was simply a ‘look, but don’t touch’ kind of situation. Aghhh.
Can somebody please tell me why guys do it? Why they act interested, why they get in touch, why they look at you many times across the pub like they wanna make sweet, sweet love to you, if they have no intention of following it up???? Don’t they realize we get excited and that we plan our social calendars (and on very special occasions, our bikini waxes) around their stated intentions? It’s bloody frustrating, and just plain rude.
Written submissions as to why this happens, and how a girl is to deal with such situations will be accepted (and very much appreciated). If it’s good, I would love to even post it as a guest post for all my lovely lady readers to learn from, too.
And to the creator of our universe, I hope you’re enjoying the show. But perhaps, just once, you could cut your favorite blogger some slack and give her a lovely boy-meets-girl-boy-likes-girl-girl-likes-boy-amazing-sex-happily-ever-after situation, even if only for a little while? I promise it won’t affect my writing and I’ll make it up to you by, I dunno, doing good deeds or something?
Thanks in advance (and great work on the Hemsworth brothers BTW).
Naughty Miss Jones xx