Clumsy with His Prey

A hungry lion (me) is sitting at a bar in a fine sushi restaurant. It’s Saturday night—the dreaded couples night. Across from me is a couple around thirty. She’s stunning; he’s pissing me off. Why? Because he’s neglecting her.

You see, while his lovely brunette is on his right, there’s an unattended blonde on his left. Sure, she’s attractive also, but he has plenty. Still, he’s distracted. Heck, so am I, but I’m a hungry lion with no meal at hand. He’s being greedy. I wish his woman would dump hot sake over his snide skull.

What’s up with this fella? Sure, he’s twenty years my junior, but he’s old enough to know better. Is it possible that everyone he has dated up till this point has been an overly-tolerant, low-esteem-having woman? Might he have never been smitten for misdeeds toward his kitten?

Guys, the most important thing your woman wants from you is your attention when you’re with her. It’s not that difficult. Pay attention to her. Listen. Sure, you can glance about, but stop fucking staring. It’s rude! If you caught her drooling over the dreamy biceps of some other dude, you’d be none too pleased. Quit it!

He doesn’t quit it.

He goes so far as to offer her some sake. This is where the other woman should begin taking remedial action. He’s obviously with someone. If he’s distracted, it’s not because the blonde is superior; it’s because he’s unfaithfully gluttonous. The blonde should realize this asshole will treat her similarly, given the chance.

Her response to his offer should have been as follows.

“No, thank you. Um, is that your girlfriend next to you?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name, sweetie?” (To her.)

“Elaine.”

“Elaine, why are you wasting your time with this fucking loser? There are thirty men in this bar alone who will treat you better than this waste of testosterone. Demand better. Dump the douche canoe.”

But, that didn’t happen. His lady bookends ignored the offense. I swear he was filling his woman’s water glass to get her to hit the ladies room so he could slide his card to the blonde. That’s an old trick she may have expected him to pull, because that night she had a basketball bladder, and gave him no opening for misdeeds. (Here’s hoping she gave him no opening in the bedroom, as well.)

If I were the alpha-type, instead of the passive-aggressive cat that I am, I would have sneaked up next to her, and stolen his prey. I’d treasure her, and make her feel secure in my love. The other women in the room would be invisible to me. Sure, she’d probably feel suffocated, and eventually return to Mr. Rubberneck.

Ladies, please start calling your man on his shit. I don’t care if it’s in public. Do it, or don’t complain about being the easy prey.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.