Hey, stranger, nice to meet you. No, it was no problem coming to your side of town, I’m super flexible like that. Let’s have a drink! I’m going to order an obscure Irish whiskey; what do you want?
I agree—this night is going so-o-o great. How is someone like me still single? To be honest, I’m just as shocked as you are. It’s probably mostly because, like you just so astutely said, I’m not like Other Girls.
Other Girls are so picky at restaurants. They only want salads! Bo-o-oring. I’m going to get the rib eye, so rare that it’s basically raw. And later, while you’re in the restroom, I’ll order every dessert on the menu. All nine of them. Unlike Other Girls, I’ve got a sweet tooth and I don’t care who knows it!
Other Girls wear too much makeup. I don’t know about you, but I believe that women should satisfy unrealistic beauty standards naturally. That’s why I don’t wear any makeup. Instead, I use the ashes from the sage I burn at my weekly séances as eye shadow. And get this: in lieu of lipstick, I bite down really, really hard on my lower lip until it bleeds a little.
Other Girls are needy. Ugh, what could be worse, am I right? I’m not like that at all. When I send you eight text messages in a row, it’s always about something important and deep. And when you don’t write back after nine-plus minutes, I’ll ignore each of your responses for two-hour intervals increasing by approximately a hundred and fifty per cent per text. By our second date, it will take me three to five days to reply to that GIF of the adorable chipmunk turning its head dramatically.
This is a crazy one, but apparently Other Girls don’t read. Honestly, I’m not really sure where these Other Girls are because most women I’ve met who are over the age of seven can totally read, but what do I know? For your information, I can absolutely read. For example, today I read everything from Tim Ferriss to Betty Friedan to the local obituaries.
Other Girls are so vain. They post way too many selfies! I don’t do that. Instead, I take a Polaroid of myself every day and tack it to the wall of a small closet at the back of my apartment. I’ve been doing this for ten years. I’ve almost filled the entire space by now! I’ll show it to you sometime . . . if you play your cards right. ;)
Other Girls are always fighting with their female friends. Oof, that kind of drama must be so exhausting for a man. Luckily, I don’t have that problem. My best friend and I never fight. In fact, we already have plans to run away, rent a cabin in the Montana wilderness, and adopt a baby together if we’re still single by the time we’re thirty-five.
Other Girls can’t hang with the guys. And that’s, like, super important. On Sundays, I’ll make a huge platter of nachos for you and your boys, buy a thirty-rack of Bud Light, and watch every football game with you. I’ll even yell expletives at the refs. Then, I’ll take a notable dump in your toilet, clog it, and leave.
This might shock you, but did you know that Other Girls don’t have complex feelings? Supposedly, they only feel three things: tired, hungry, and shoppy. Shoppy means to want to shop. La-a-ame. I’m so multifaceted that I also feel a fourth thing, which is called “incipient rage.”
Finally, Other Girls aren’t direct descendants of Bridget Bishop, a woman famously convicted and executed in the Salem witch trials. I know—family is extremely important to me, too. Other Girls, they just don't get that.
Oh, you’re leaving? Wait, why so soon? No-o-o, stay! Have another drink with me! In fact, have another drink with us. I invited some Other Girls. Look, there they are, approaching you from all sides with heavy shopping bags. You’re uncomfortable? Don’t be. You’re not the one wearing three-inch heels and attempting to “glisten” rather than sweat in the dense Los Angeles heat. Besides, the Other Girls can’t feel rage, remember? That’s only me. They’re just hungry. :)
