Here’s a little insight from too-honest me to all of you ladies who can’t resist posting photos of you and your love leach. Almost nobody likes them, even if they “like” them. It’s not a jealousy thing, or even misery looking for company. It’s just us, the uncaring mass.
It’s similar when I see happy couples out and about. I may smile, and say something kind like, “Aw, look at you two,” but I’m definitely burping up a bit of bile. Ideally, you don’t care if I care, happy couple. You don’t need me to share your bliss, which will probably last barely longer than the granny smith apples I have in my fridge. Go ahead, love it up. Play kissy-face, holdy-hands, and takey-selfie. I’ll play solitaire.
If the woman is attractive to the third-party male, his first thought is how much more deserving of you he is than that slug next to you. Although it’s not often the case, we third-partiers feel we are much better looking and have more to offer. Your man probably beats you or, at least, he’s mean. Bet he’s broke. Probably has a teeny weenie weenie. You must have self-esteem issues.
Then, we look for an opening (not literally, yet). If your keeper strays too far, we’ll give you an indication of interest. Usually, that causes nose wrinklage. Meh. No swing, no hit, right? I guess it has happened. Never seen it, but would love to. Her man goes to the bar for a round of drinks, the third party moves in, she bails with her new, improved man.
You’d think we apes would be smart enough to think it through. If we were to hijack you away from the undeserving piece of shower lint you call your “honey,” that would make us the next version of him. Hence, we’d be facing all the “ew” faces. Nah. We have short-term results in mind. Get you to choose us over him.
Look, I know it’s sad, shallow, and immature. But, that urge to steal prey is something buried deep in our instincts. I can lie about it, and appear to be a supporter of the blissful duo. I often do this. That’s how I keep the “nice guy” title. Sure, I’ll attend your gatherings with my plus zero. I’ll even bring red wine and deviled eggs. But, you should know that cynicism burns deep within me.
It’s not just me, either. I’ve watched friends hijack women, only to leave them behind like a doggie bag. Oh, sure, there’s regret—about as much as the regret that those au gratin potatoes won’t be tomorrow’s lunch.
Here’s the other thing: I’m sure most single women look at the handsome man of the happy couple similarly. Ladies have more empathy, decency, and the ability to use logic to override instinct. I admire that. That’s why I love women—well, that and boobs. Yet, there are women hunters who will sprint by, and harpoon the easiest prey in the jungle: Horneous Manpigapus. Beware the scorned woman too. She’s exceptionally dangerous and adept. If she is sporting new shoes, and fully-healed cosmetic surgery, she’s the T-Rex of all predators. Run!
Aw, unfurl that brow, Sugar. I’m just messing with you. I truly wish you two live happily forever, and I look forward to your next post … like my next colonoscopy.
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