Yes, you have a boyfriend. Good for you.

oh so doucheyRemember those old movies where the vixen would cover her wedding ring with her hand, or slide it into her purse so she could have a tryst? Haven’t seen one of those in awhile. Maybe since I’m older and creepier, women aren’t as likely to go stealth, and bed the old dog. Perhaps my goatee is threatening. Nothing ruins my bar-top dinner quicker than a barkeep itching to insert her boyfriend into a conversation.

“Are you a big football fan?”

“I watch some games, but there’s an unmeasurable amount of shit I give about the outcomes.”

“And, as I just learned in night school, that’s the opposite of an immeasurable amount.”

“Wow. How’d you like to edit my next tome?”

“Tome? How big is it?”

“You’re going to have to pour me three more drinks before I answer that one.”

“Funny. Anyway, I love football. Consider myself a bit of a football nerd, actually.”


“My boyfriend was never a big fan, but I turned him on to it. Now he’s in like four fantasy leagues.”

And, there it was–the boyfriend warning. Ugh. Women do this for one of three reasons:

  1. He’s on her mind, so he just happens to slip into conversation.
  2. She’s letting me know she’s currently occupied, so I shouldn’t seek shelter within her.
  3. She’s reminding herself she has a boyfriend, so she doesn’t misbehave. Well, at least if she does, it isn’t entirely her fault. After all, she did warn me.

Ladies, unless I plop a ring case on the bar in front of you, I don’t need to hear about your boyfriend. In fact, nobody does. Sorry, but nothing is more boring and annoying than hearing someone gush about a relationship partner. This is why people pay good money to therapists. After hours of hearing tales of loving, hating, leaving, returning, and not knowing what to do, therapists need big bucks so they can pay it on up the ladder to a therapist who will talk them away from the edge of the cliff.

I know, if you’re in love, or on the way there, this sounds like bitterness. It’s not. Here, allow me to demonstrate.

“I met this woman last week and, oh, my god, she’s amazing. We talked and talked and talked about everything. Time just flew by. Before we knew it, we finished the second bottle and were holding hands and flirting like teenagers. She’s intelligent, and sexy too. She got her Masters from Stanford. She’s solid; must run a lot. Her thighs were like rocks. Every night, we spend like an hour on the phone before bedtime. I’m really falling for this one.”

By this point, you wish you had a rolled up magazine to swat me with. You want nothing more than for this relationship of mine to end badly, right? So, this is how it feels when you bring up that partner of yours to a stranger. He or she isn’t interested or amused. If you were on TV, the channel would be changed. Far better it is to discuss the weather.

I don’t care if you have a boyfriend.

I must have F-me eyes. While involved in a casual conversation with a lady, if she has a boyfriend, she’ll usually mention him within ten minutes. This annoys me. She should save that little ditty until after I have asked her out. By using the B-word before I express my interest, she is being presumptuous.

Case in point:

  • While giving me a trim, my barber happened (and you have no idea how rare this is) to be an attractive female. I gave her minor direction: short on the sides, blend in the top, and the rest is up to you since you’re the expert. The topic of tequila came up in discussion and I mentioned I had tried coconut tequila for the first time the night before. She responded with, “My boyfriend and I did shots of that last night too.”

Do I give a fuckity fuck who did shots with her? Nope. That annoying appendage (boyfriend) has no place in our discussion. Hence, I didn’t hear what she said; I heard:

  • Look, Assface, you’re paying me to cut your hair. Don’t try to flirt with me because I’m not going to sleep with you. I’ll do you the courtesy of hinting that the reason is because my vagina is currently occupied by another man who may or may not be superior to you, depending on what angle is taken. In actuality, I’m not attracted to you and wouldn’t mate with you even if I had a fifth of tequila, a deep itch, and a dark room. Now, can I please finish mowing your head lawn so I can collect your three-dollar tip and move on to the next balding creeper.

To defend my honor, I should have replied:

  • That’s so nice for you that you have a boyfriend. Believe it or not, unoccupied vaginas come a dime two dozen, so yours isn’t so precious. If you were single, sure, I’d probably offer to give you a deep dicking, but all I’m concerned with at this moment is that the back of my neck is cleaned up and you’re exceptionally careful with how you handle that straight edge. I will generously extend a twenty percent tip and, if you don’t appreciate it, you’ll not have another shot at my scalp. May the next man you trim be eighty, smell of gouda, and I hope be yanks his carrot under this stupid cape while you rush to complete your job before he completes his.

Please keep your boyfriend to yourself. Good day.

He loves her but another she loves him.

I put on my listening ears and let a brother vent to me. He has a heavy crush on a lovely woman who yo-yos in and out of his life. At the other end he has a different woman who happens to have the dreaded one-way crush on him.

“It’s Murphy’s Law: I love her and she loves someone else while she loves me and I love someone else.”
“I’d say that’s more the norm than the exception, Hank.”
“It should be simple. Why do I love what I can’t have while discarding what I have?”
“Because you’re a womanizing mess, and God is punishing you.”
“You don’t even believe in God.”
“True. Your god is punishing you.”
“Let’s work on the target of your affection first. Have you professed your love for her?”
“I bought her dinner and sent a text heart.”
“A text heart?”
“Less than sign, three.”
“Add ‘adolescent douche’ to the list of reasons why you’re single.”
“Shut up. Chicks love text messages.”
“Whatevs. (That’s my attempt to speak your language.) If you don’t tell her eye-to-eye how you feel, she could misinterpret your intentions.”
“She probably just wants me as a friend and if I open up she’ll climb a tree.”
“If you love her, she’s worth the chase. Now, about your fan.”
“Is she unattractive?”
“No. She’s gorgeous.”
“What’s her issue, other than the fact that she has horrible taste?”
“She seems too desperate for a boyfriend. If I agree to date her, I’ll have to watch every step I take because she’s so fragile.”
“True, fragile toys are stressful to play with. Have you told her you just want to be friends?”
“No, because I might consider taking her on if the woman I love turns me down.”
“See? This is why I date my wine glass and ride my bed solo.”
“But I like having a girlfriend. I get sex and companionship and don’t seem like such a pathetic, lonely turd by sitting at a wine bar night after night getting drunk with empty seats on either side of me.”
“None taken, asshat. You’ll never be happy with the chick who is chasing you, so shut that shit down. As far as the object of your desire, you had better make your intentions clear before she latches onto another man because you never made a move.”
“What if she shuts my shit down?”
“Then you move on to the next love domino, trying to fall for each other.”