How Should I Treat You?


When you reward behavior, you encourage it. This applies to dogs and humans. Pop offered me $5 for each “A” on my report card, so I worked hard to get them. I was told to honor, respect, and be kind to others regardless of their gender, skin color, or favorite football team. Excluding Dallas Cowboy fans, I’ve done my best, and received such fine reactions as, “Well, thank you for holding the door. You’re a fine young gentleman.”

So, how does my next lover want to be treated?

I don’t want to turn this into a political statement. (Save that for Facebook.) Yet, I watched and listened to ten years of Trump bashing women and immigrants. Was he punished to discourage this? Well, let’s see: He has a hot, young wife, he went bankrupt numerous times and was forgiven, he called his opponents names, made false accusations, and said he likes to grab women by the pussy … and we just elected him president.

Wait … what?

Saying and doing the things he has done is fine in the context of entertainment and comedy. I admit that I’m a dickhead, but I’m kidding, and I’m not running for president. But, we just rewarded his behavior in the most profound way. When I say “we,” I’m not just referring to uneducated white redneck men. The very people he maligned voted for him as well. Fuck, Hillary may have voted for him. Sounds crazy? Shit, I’ve heard plenty of women defend their abusers.

I’m confused. It’s as if I were managing a group of women, and treated them Trump-like. Daily activities would include:

  • I pay them handsomely.
  • I set up my office in their restroom.
  • I slap their asses twice a day.
  • When they’re caught not giving me sufficient praise, I call them liars and suggest they be shot.

For this, I would receive their loyalty.

Come on. Help a brother out here. I’m going on another first date tonight. This suggests my previous first dates were failures. So, what am I doing wrong? I shower, dress nicely, wear cologne, arrive early, compliment her, ask her questions about her, listen, ignore my phone, pay the tab, escort her out walking behind her, hold the door, give her a respectful hug, ask when I can see her again, and confirm she got home safely.

I must have it all wrong.

Perhaps, I should try the president-elect approach. I go straight from the gym, arrive late, ask to see her tits, tell her about my stock portfolio, interrupt her, pinch her ass, call my buddies and brag about how I’m about to bang this bar slut, tell her I forgot my wallet, tell her I’ll meet her in the parking lot after I take a dump, hit on another bar patron on my way out, meet my date at her car and shove my hand down her pants, tell her she had better fuck me tonight, or I’m not answering any texts, screw her in the backseat of her car, come in her hair, and leave.

Then, I expect her to blog about how wonderful I am.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.