Don't Bother - I Won't Die

In my many adventures in dating, the one thing that always has and always will annoy me is a sense of entitlement in men. I mean really. Just because you have abs like Superman and Batman's well defined chin does not mean you are guaranteed sex. At least not with me.

Technically speaking you are guaranteed to get laid. Someone will eventually, but she may be one of no will and has probably succumb to the washboard abs of many men before you. (Wait, you didn't know you're not the only one who works out?) And what fun is anyone of no will, of no industry standards? Personally, I pride myself in my craftmanship and artistry. A Brandita performance art original does not sell cheap. It takes time and effort to create an absolute masterpiece.

Unfortunately, this attitude is standard among many men--especially those that believe that in some way their physique will blind women to their obvious flab in character. So much so that dumb lines are expected to work.
My recent refusal to even pretend like one of those lines were working cost me a free lunch just a couple of weeks ago. I could still kick myself for not going along with it long enough to get a free sandwich out of the deal. I guess I just wasn't in the mood for fun and games for once.

I had received a lunch offer from a total stud muffin. I'd have totally used his abs to scrub myself clean with if he hadn't of been such a douche, but all he could talk about was giving me a "massage" and asking me questions about where I like to be rubbed. Okay, great that your response to my physical appearance is similar to mine, but seriously? Can we keep it under wraps some? Lend some sense of mystery to it? Pretend we're actually interested in what each other have to say? I'm pretty sure I'm the one who would have done the most pretending.

Yet, he still swore up and down he was seriously interested in meeting someone to date. Really? Sounds more like an Adult Friend Finder ad stuck on repeat. Even after I said, "Look, we're just not looking for the same thing," he still insisted we were. I'm sure he knows my mind so well since he's said so much to me.

It finally came down to me almost literally spelling it out for him. I do not want to F-U-C-K on my lunch break. Sorry.

After spelling it out, I said I'd be fine with still meeting him for lunch if that didn't change anything, but of course it did. After smacking the ball (hard) back into his court, he didn't return the serve. No longer interested in lunch after I spelled it out slowly with careful annunciation.

So, there goes yet another free meal that I wouldn't have felt the slightest bit of remorse for taking on the go. So why didn't I? Let me go kick myself a couple of times for not turning the tables on a total douche and then I'll be back with a blog explaining my lack of forethought.

Image brought to you by DeviantArt user Osga.

Candid Cabbage

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