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Dating For Godot
I moved
here two months ago to start a new job. Ever since, an adorable 33-year-old
coworker has been standing outside my office door at the end of the day,
chatting with me for a half-hour or so. He often invites me to lunch and
on outings with him and other coworkers, including last weekend’s
party on a coworker’s farm. There, he said to tell him when I’m
performing (I’m in a band) so “they” -- the office crowd
-- could come listen. Basically, he’s done everything but ask me
out! While I truly appreciate his going out of his way to include the
new girl, I’m frustrated -- I really want him to make a move! Am
I reading too much into his invitations? --It Takes Twelve To Tango
The state of men, these days, mirrors the state of the martini, which has gone all frilly and girly, and requires much micro-management -- lest it come in purple, with green Jolly Ranchers bobbing around Malibu Barbie’s floating head.
A lot of women suddenly have a hard time determining whether a man is
preparing to ask them out or preparing to be embalmed. This is no news
to you, since the guy circling your wagon appears to base his dating M.O.
on “How Emulating A Paperweight Can Help You Pick Up Chicks.”
Now, maybe this guy is merely a one-man chamber of commerce. Then again,
maybe he’d like a date with you that doesn’t require police
and fire personnel for coworker crowd-control, but maybe he’s afraid
of stepping in something sticky, with sexual harassment written all over
it. Probably, though, he’s just as lost as the rest of the men.
How did men get so lost? Rogue feminists helped them. They whacked men
upside the head with a big bronze bust of Gloria Steinem. While they were
all out cold, somebody did a lot of whispering in their ears about not
acting like such hairy beasts: “No, boys, sit down, have a civilized
cup of tea, and stick out your pinkies...if you want us to like you.”
(P.S. We do like you like this, yes -- we just won’t have anything
to do with you on Saturday night...nyah, nyah, nyah!)
Men shot back a big lie of their own: that they want women to pursue
them. Wrong! Men are hunters. They don’t want to be gathered. Men
love the chase. What they don’t love is a chase that ends with a
big wooden club popping out of the wall and clobbering them -- or, worse
yet, with the words “Why are you talking to me?” popping out
of a woman’s mouth and clobbering them.
Suddenly, men are lying around like slabs of raw liver on wax paper, waiting
for somebody to take charge -- just as long as it isn’t the woman.
That’s where The Slider Date comes in. It’s an after-work
meeting of two colleagues -- a date that’s not a date...unless the
colleagues on it let it slide into one. Wait until all potential chaperones
have left the building, then ask him out for drinks. Flirt a little, and
if it goes well, flirt violently, until he gets the message that you’re
just about dying to be chased. You may need to repeat the process, as
it can take time to undo the brain damage done by the big bronze bust.
If you aren’t the patient sort, you might try washing his mind out
with a couple martinis -- you know the drill: shaken, not stirred, hold
the marshmallows, forget the graham crackers, and lose the macadamia nuts.
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