Tuesday, October 02, 2007


A dear reader and fellow blogger, G-Man, has emailed me with a problem. The full, unabridged letter is available on his site, so do go read it. Below is a brief synopsis:

G-Man goes to pub, and is introduced to a scantily-clad girl who likes pole-dancing and communicates only in nasal grunts and table-banging.

The aforementioned gentleman is then introduced to another girl. She seems nice, but knows nothing about rugby. She only wants to be friends. G-Man replies he doesn’t want to be friends. Nice-girl has since texted him forty-eight times in a desperate plea for coffee. Nice-girl has friend ring up and scream abuse.

Mr G-Man concludes, "What's up with that? What the hell is wrong with these people? How can I get them to just leave me alone?"

Dear G-Man,

What a tragic tale of woe!

Once upon a time, Mr Smith and I had been invited to a party that neither of us were especially inclined to attend. I fussed and bothered over how to politely disentangle ourselves from the obligation – worrying that the excuses I came up with were weak, or unbelievable. Then Mr Smith came home.

"I ran into Mr X today," he said (Mr X being the host of the party in question).
"Oh no," I cried, "Did he ask if we were going to the party?"
"Yes," replied Mr Smith.
"What did you tell him?"
"I said we didn’t want to go."
I gasped. "You didn't! What did he say?"
Mr Smith shrugged. "He said 'no worries,' and that was it."

I have always admired the directness of men's language – while women will couch their sentiments in a frenzy of obtuse ambiguities, men will say a cheery "fuck off!" and be done with it. Such a very efficient and tidy way of going about life. Unfortunately for men, this directness is not a language women generally appreciate or comprehend. While you, G-man, were very frank and honest to the women in question – they did not understand what you were saying.

Thus – the question remains – how to get clueless limpets to bugger off and leave a man to drink beer and watch rugby in peace? I would suggest the following:

1. Paint a dreary picture of your prospects. Say, "Could I borrow a couple of hundred? Dole-day isn’t until Wednesday, and I need to pay the board at my hostel… I'll pay it back when I get a job. Actually, can you make it five hundred? The lads and I are off to a strip-club tonight, and I haven’t had a lap-dance in ages."

2. Perhaps they see you as playing hard to get. Ring Nice-girl, and propose marriage. Tell her that she’s the girl of your dreams, and that your mother has booked the reception hall already, and needs her to come over next Wednesday to pick centre-pieces and napkin designs. This could back-fire, I suppose, but would be interesting to try.

3. You should so have asked the table-banger for her number. Without the ability to think or communicate in a human language, she would never bother you with questions such as "What are you thinking?" or pointless arguments about whether you think she is fat.

Hope I have been of some help,

Mrs Smith


Mark said...

4. Tell them you're gay and HIV Positive.

Then send the pole dancer to my place.

I'd rather get laid than watch rugby any day but then I'm not gay...

Cactus Kate said...

I suggested the threesome Mrs Smith.

Mark is on to something however. My favourite sport is Cricket and while I will move heaven and earth to watch it in peace, NOTHING beats combining watching Cricket with a man hitting his square leg under the covers between overs.

Lita said...

Uhoh, both girls sound like some of my friends. Um, they make me feel normal?

I really wish I could go with Mr Smith's direct approach, I get flustered with my excuses. I wonder what the friend said when her husband repeated what Mr Smith said to him.

d-man said...

Boys are different from girls.

Robyn said...

Gman sounds like a cockface, so no wonder he was a crazy-lady magnet.

There's a really simple way of getting rid of crazy ladies - ignore them. Don't respond to any of their texts, phone calls or attempts at communication. Even if you say, "Piss off, you mental bitch!" you'll just be fuelling their fire and validating their behaviour. Just shut up.

Also, Gman could have saved a lot of hassle with the Nice Girl if he'd ignored her text, But no, he wanted to one-up her in the "let's be friend" stakes.

Just shut up, ow.

Gman said...

Just top clear up some points. I was watching football--not rugby.

Also--it was the friend of the pole-dancer who called up.

The nice girl has txted me some more.

I never used any 'put downs' on either of these girls. I told her to shut up.

The decision: sorry, no threesome, no anal, no games.

You see these females are girls. The Gman wants a g-woman.

Any girl who would txt me so many times is a psycho and is desparate, and is a little girl. I don't have time for psychoes and I don't have time for little girls. She has been told by me that she should cease txting me.

As for the other one--let's not mince words. She is a tart. I dont like tarts.

A guy has said that there must be something wrong with me for not taking up the opportunity. Well, I have something my friend that you will never have: class.

You may buy your clothes from the Warehouse my friend but don't expect me to.

IF you cannot stimulate me intellectually, if you have no wit, no future, no prospects please do not ask for credit because refusal often offends.

The plan is still the same.

Mark said...

"A guy has said that there must be something wrong with me for not taking up the opportunity. Well, I have something my friend that you will never have: class.

You may buy your clothes from the Warehouse my friend but don't expect me to."

Ow. I think I just got bitch-slapped for my little joke up there. Please allow me to retract my statement and provide a correction:

I'd rather get laid than watch football.


Captain Crab said...

Heck G-man. I admire your idealism but you're sounding like you actually NEED to get laid. Up to you though. As for me, I've always been too lazy to wank so I'm with Mark on this one.
Couple of rules though: always at their place and dont let them know where you live, and run like hell in the morning. Giggling with maniacal glee optional.

Gman said...

Don't get me wrong--they were both hot, but I'm passed that sort of nonsense.

I've been there and done her. I've fallen out of windows escaping while the boyfriend walks in the front door, trousers still half off.

There comes a time when a man needs something more substantial.

I'm just off NZ and Aust women that's all--it's like having sausages and mash when you can have truffles in a white-wine sauce.


Mark said...

"There comes a time when a man needs something more substantial."

All kidding aside, I totally agree. Enter the older woman...

Mrs Smith said...

Well! I've been called many things in my life, but never sausages and mash.

Mark said...

Actually, I've always thought of you more as champagne and caviar, Mrs. Smith...