Nice Guys Finish… Never
I was the nice guy once. It happened in third grade. My troublemaker friend Tommy got the cutest girl in the class because he was, well, bad (“bad” in those days meant looking up the teacher’s dress or passing notes in class). I was, well, good and the only thing good got me in third grade was a pat on the head from Miss Hultz and a 7 year-old version of Rosie O’Donnell as my study partner. It’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten. I haven’t been the nice guy since.
This guy is easier to read than closed captioning. It’s unfortunate that he’s so inept when it comes to reading you. Did he not take Body Language 101 upon reaching puberty? I don’t whether to feel sorry for this guy or smack him upside the head. The signs were EVERYWHERE, yet he just kept driving.
First of all, Dude, when a woman tells you she’s not feeling well, you punt, quickly and gracefully. You show no anger, only gentlemanly concern and the most benign flash of disappointment. In case it’s true (as in your case), you promise, with all sincerity to reschedule. The next day, you do just that. But you DO NOT, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, keep the date. Hey, Ray Charles – either she’s not feeling well, or she’s not feeling well in anticipation of spending a few hours with you. Either way, a good time is not likely to be in the cards. Sex? Don’t even think about it. Make a smooth exit. No ifs, ands or buts.
I’ll bet you gave him the one-armed hug, didn’t you? I know you did. The full head/half body turn, no lips within 5 feet, one-armed hug. It’s what a kid gives an adult when the adult’s kind of creepy. It’s what a good-looking woman gives a man when she’s simply not feeling it. It’s what you gave him, the minute he walked in the door and it should have led him to a clear understanding from that moment on… Not a sprawl on the couch, not an escort every trip to the kitchen, but a clear understanding that he is still in the dugout. He’s not even in the batter’s box yet. At this very moment, the only thing he should be realizing is that he may never even get up to the plate – and there’s probably not a damn thing he can do to change this.
So first you don’t feel well and then you throw him the one-armed hug. Still, no breaking news flash for Mr. Nice Guy. OK, we’ll cut him some slack so far because he’s, well, Opie. But there’s one thing about your night with him that I simply can’t forgive. It slaps all men in the face with its complete lack of manhood. After only two dates with you, TWO passionless, G-rated dates, he’s already talked about dating you with his sister. His sister! There is simply no forgiving this vagina-driven behavior. Your future with this man is guaranteed – you have none. Sooner, rather than later you will notify this man that you are not interested. Sooner, rather than later it will come down to, “You’re a really nice guy, but…”
BTW… If I catch you continuing to second-guess yourself for not finding some magical way to truly like “Mr. Perfect, except for the fact that he couldn’t get a rise out of you with a sledgehammer,” I might get pissed. You have every right to want and expect more in a man than someone who’s best asset is that he’s a nice guy. You have every right to set the bar high, and keep it there, not settling even if the clock is ticking and you sometimes get tired of not knowing who to write in as your emergency contact. Please, please, please don’t let the fact that he liked you carry any more weight than it warrants. It’s not about whether or not they like us – it can only be about whether or not we like them.
So, when are you going to kick him to the curb? Maybe you should find out if he has a cousin first.
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No More Mr. Nice Guy?
I had Date #3 with the Nice Guy this week. My brain tells me I should like him. I should really, really like him. I do… But I don’t. And it’s pissing me off.
So how do women do it? How do they settle for the nice guy?
Date #3 was at my house. I’m still not feeling 100%, and didn’t feel like I could cancel on the Nice Guy, so we opted for a mellow take-out, movie and Scrabble night. Before he showed up, I gave myself a “like him” pep talk. Maybe if we’re on my turf I’ll like him better. Maybe casual lying around, watching TV, no social pressure is just what the doctor ordered.
I opened the door hopeful, but felt – nothing. Well, a little light-headed from not feeling well, but other than that, NOTHING. I just don’t get it! He’s not a bad looking guy; he just doesn’t do it for me.
I guess the best way to describe him is well, Opie. He’s Opie. He looks like Opie, he acts like Opie, he’s Opie. But he’s also smart, and funny, and caring and kind – so far. And he really, really likes me. He’s like a puppy. Now I know what it’s like to have a puppy.
He brought me a gift. It was a book I had picked up and thumbed through for 5 seconds on our last date. He actually remembered what book I looked at. My last boyfriend didn’t remember my middle name. Why can’t I like him? I made a bunch of appetizers (can’t help it, I’m a people pleaser). Every time I got up to get a dish, or a glass, or a napkin, he followed me to the kitchen. At one point, I think I actually said, “Stay.” Yep, I have a puppy. Hopefully he won’t pee on the rug or chew my shoes.
We turned on a movie. He sprawled himself diagonally across my huge sectional couch, purposely leaving me the choice of two small corners so I would have to come into contact with him. Smart play, actually… I know the play, it’s my couch – I’ve done it a million times. So I settled in and he awkwardly moved my legs across him. The poor guy has absolutely no game. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get comfortable. In my world, that leads to rubbing, which leads to making out, which leads to sex, which doesn’t lead to Opie. When he got up to go to the bathroom, I moved.
Why can’t I like him?
After the movie we played Scrabble. This guy is a lawyer, he’s got a good command of the English language, and I kicked his ass. He had no chance. I have played Scrabble twice a week my entire life. I had two grandmothers who were addicted to the game, and I played every Thursday with one, and every Saturday with another. I’ve been playing since the age of 9, and the last one died last year, so by my count that is at least two games a week for 29 years. I got a text from him afterwards, “My sister couldn’t believe that you beat me at not one game, but two.” Oh shit. His sister knows we played Scrabble. Wait – he called her right after our date! And then it occurred to me. In his mind, we’re dating.
It will come as no surprise that I define dating by baseball. And in my opinion, Opie has only been up at bat, and has not yet reached a base. So, we’re not dating. Until we reach a base, we’re not dating. But, in his mind, we are definitely dating. In his mind, he’s courting me. It’s not strange to him to have had 3 dates and no kiss yet. It’s not strange to him to text every day and to not have slept together. It’s not strange to him, because he’s the nice guy who girls fall for over time. So why can’t I be that girl?
Our date ended with a hug. And he was perfectly happy. So what do I do? Is it time to never see him again? Do I say something now? Do I see him again knowing that I don’t want to be his girlfriend?
At the end of the day, I guess I don’t want Opie. I want Opie’s hot asshole cousin.
