The Ladies, The Ladies

‘I live with my parents.’

It’s one of the first sentences out of my mouth when I meet an attractive female. I throw it out there like a hot grenade and watch for the reaction through my fingers. Oh, the carnage.

You might ask why I would chop out my own knees, why I would kick myself in the balls having not even gotten off the runway. I wish I could tell you that it were part of an agro-pimp, push-pull strategy that attracts women like fat kids to video games. It’s not. I simply enjoy good, old fashioned car wreck and the feeling of having chosen to drive into opposing lane. I like being both driver and voyeur; I’m the God of ruining a moment.

The grenade also serves a tactical purpose. It is a filter that eliminates the least inventive, most average candidates who have little or no imagination and no sense of adventure. And don’t be confused. What I’m doing is an adventure that makes Into the Wild sound like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. (It’s a book, you know… not Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride!) If she can’t understand my epic adventure and laugh along just a bit, then I don’t need to be hindered by her lack of vision. Wench.

Big news: living with your parents at 33 makes you a leper to most females. Knowing this, I approach my social life with a certain level of reality. My dating life has morphed into an extended practice session with an oft-aggravated enemy. Single women are largely angry at single guys.., just think about it. How many times do you hear women talk about the ‘losers’ they attract? They very commonly follow up that statement with the characteristics of said loser which, more often than not, include: lives with his parents. So, entering the colloseum, I know the gladiator I’ll be facing. And, unfortunately for her, she thinks she knows me.

Therefore, watching the results of the bomb dropping can be a delicious treat. If I had to pick a favorite reaction, it might be the ‘hearty laugh that slowly becomes uncomfortable as I remain painfully straight-faced’. As she expects some indication from me that it’s a joke, she receives nothing to guide her through the straits of discomfort. And, as a sales guy, I learned that listening can cause discomfort. Discomfort often causes people to shed hidden truths. So I listen and she writhes in the weird feelings of silence.

Her verbal reaction can be very telling, as well. Certain comments can make or break the girl. For example, if she asks questions about why I live this way, how I’ve managed the long and for how long I’ve been there, then I can assume that she might survive this ordeal and is therefore worthy of my time investment. But sometimes they change the subject immediately and squirm their way out of facing the ugly dragon. I respond to the remainder of their conversational statements and questions with references to my mom’s cooking and my dad’s penchant for farting.

But sometimes I know immediately that I don’t like her. On these rare occasions I don’t mention the odd living situation until the morning; when we walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where mom and dad are reading the paper and drinking coffee. This is probably the most effective of them all.