Dating is a social ritual in which a couple battles for possession of the man's chromosomes.
Should I bring flowers?
Too late! Luckily, no one brings flowers to a first date anymore, unless they want to come on stronger than Kmart cologne. It was once a sweet gesture, but since the invention of sex in the 1960s, is now done only by faux-gentlemen looking to plow as many girls as possible without a condom.
And ye shall know them by the way
they call you "Angel" incessantly.
Seriously, men: flowers are even less subtle than casually mentioning the thread count of your silk sheets. If you're going to make that declaration of intent, you might as well save $20 and drag her to the restaurant by her hair.
The man, because the push for equality is no match for the pull of chivalry. Hey, if you spent your day enduring sexual harassment for $8,000 less than your male co-workers, you'd want some free jalapeno poppers too.
Not even a lactose intolerant Simone de Beauvoir could resist this
The paradox is, if the date is going well, many women order a salad to maximize future popper-tunities. It's not until marriage that most couples stop trying to impress one another.
Should we have sex?
Yes, but no. Ladies, your foremothers fought for your reproductive rights -- rights you squander every time you don't have sex. It's like how the Second Amendment orders us to use a gun if it's lying on a mantle.
Are you worried you'll be called a whore? Don't be; the more accurate term is slut. Who cares? The people judging you think the decade of segregation, nuclear terror and McCarthyism was the good old days. Do whatever you want. All you have to lose is your self-respect, your health, and your independence.
Anyway, no pressure, because men should turn down sex on the first date.
It's true. Turn down sex and you've passed a weird test. From her perspective you're declining pure sex now but you eventually say yes to sex with her. Think of it as a sacrifice bunt.
Specifically a squeeze play
How'd the date go?
The man says he really enjoyed it and looks forward to seeing her again. The woman is trying to get his smell out of her clothes.
Assuming you're not a suave Italian con artist who just seduced sweet, young Anne Hathaway--
You swarthy son of a bitch
--you probably have no idea what to do next. Well, I'm going to guide you into this young lady's sex-bed, which is what movies have told me men care about more than love or decency.
First off, there are no rules. Every woman is a unique and special creature unlike any other, and they all love hearing that.
In fact, avoid all mind games for your own good. I don't want to be misanthropic, but in the time it took the men to read this sentence, the women invented a new branch of mathematics. Sure it's based on feelings, and its practical application is to win every argument, but that's 1 out of 3 stereotypes defeated.
Men have to play dumb but lovable to get women's guard down. It's been said that men are dogs and women are cats, but it's more like a two-headed frog and a raven. You can't win. Just stay out of their way until something else distracts them.
Ooh, look, sparkly things.
I once had a first date interrupted by a girl's roommate texting her, "I think my grandmother might have died back in Poland. Do you want to come console me?" This was a blatantly premeditated "Get out of Jail Free" card if the evening were going badly. Fortunately my date didn't pull that ripcord because I had charm to spare, shown below:
Pear flavor is charm AND verve!
The point is women don't expect much of male intelligence...if you're doing your job right. And everybody appreciates a free cider.
First, make sure you're home. It's terrible, but to extend the evening, many young men will slip ontological doubt into conversation to make a girl question what, if anything, is "home." Look around -- are you in a dimly lit cave? Yes? Your date is the ancient Greek philosopher Plato.
And he smells like lamb.
Now you're home for real, and presumably alone, so skip the usual cleansing rituals that render you less of an affront to the Lord. You should still, however, beg His forgiveness for being a wicked temptress who leads men to impure thoughts.
Ancient Israelites must have been lousy dates
It's time to call your friends and analyze his every gesture. There's an old saying: "How can you tell if a man is lying? His lips are moving." Women are such effective communicators they don't need words to lie. Ladies, as you will your pupils to dilate, feigning interest in his tale of escaping an abusive orphanage, you're wasting energy. Just nod when appropriate and do your taxes in your head while he's talking.
The male mind is less nuanced than a graffiti-sprayed brick wall, but contains more images of massive genitalia. A man's body language is an open book, probably one with lots of pictures. For example, was his chest rising and falling ever so slightly? That meant he wanted to have sex.
The most complex book of the 20th century was a
compendium of fart jokes, drinking tales, and masturbation.
So, you've taken a physical form (wild animal, North Wind, TV's Donal Logue, etc.) and impregnated some sylph just minding her own business at the olive press. Congratulations! You're going to be a dad, even though you're already the All-Father. Wait...that means you just molested your own all-daughter. You sick fuck. Run to the ends of eternity, yet still the Furies shall pursue you!
A lot of first dates end in the Kindly Ones
I hardly even know her.
It's unlikely that you are Cintia Dicker, but if you are I suggest when you arrive home, you sink contentedly against the door with a sigh, recalling the fun you had dating an internet humorist with his own tuxedo and at least two abdominal muscles.
Sure, all those supposed "successful" types with their so-called "money" have never had their passport application rejected, but can they look past your scorching exterior beauty to discover your scorching inner beauty? I'm willing to try, and I know all the best waffle houses around here. Call me, Cintia. My rates are reasonable.
Brendan McGinley once took a girl to the top of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree on a first date, followed by an encounter with the police. Cause he's class, baby.