I know I risk coming across as heartless on this RWR, but trust me – I’m really not this cold. Actually, I’m a lot worse….
Five attempts at romance that make me want to vom.
1. Carrying my shopping bags
I honestly don’t know why guys do this. Do they really think it’s romantic? Do they think it’s cute? It’s ridiculous is what it is. What do I do when you’re not there to carry my bags? Get them hopelessly tangled in my hands? Leave them at the H&M register when I pay for my new skirt? When you’re not there, I do the unthinkable – I carry my bags myself. I know it sounds polite and cute, but I really don’t need you following me around Target like a pack mule, carrying everything from my purse to my frappacino to the sixth pair of jeans I plan to try. First, it doesn’t seem fair. Second, you’re probably the worst shopping partner ever. Boys never know what looks cute, they never know if this pink goes with that orange, they don’t know what it means when an outfit “works” and they always have to use the bathroom. It’s not romantic, it’s not cute. Avoid the shopping bags, and avoid shopping with me altogether.
2. Showing up at my door in the middle of the night
We’ve all seen this in the movies – the couple has a ridiculous fight that ends in shouting, tears or both, and they go their separate ways. In the middle of the night – she is awakened by a knock at the door. Who could it be? Not even worrying whether or not it’s a murderer, she answers in full makeup, and there stands Romeo – breathless – declaring that he can’t rest until he tells her he loves her. Let’s get one thing straight, if you’re waking me up in the middle of the night, then you better have fire or flesh-eating disease to back it up. And you can bet I’ll show up at that door with a baseball bat or a butcher knife in my hand. And then there are the pajamas: I’ve probably got on my oversized Fantastic Fitness Club 1998 shirt and a pair of basketball shorts; my bangs are probably standing on end, and I’ve probably got sandy eyes and midnight mouth. Trust me – nothing you have to say could be so important it can’t wait until morning.
3. Touching my face
Oh this seems so romantic when Mr. Darcy does it – ever-so-lightly brushing Elizabeth’s cheek before he says “I love – I love – I love you.” Really, though: the facial caress, the hair-push-back – it’s all so overdone. It’s about as clichéd as holding hands, watching a sunset or kissing in the moonlight. Bring your meaty paw up to stroke my cheek, and nine chances out of ten, it will turn into something awkward, like you poking me in the eye. And don’t even come near my hair. I don’t need you to brush my bangs out of my face. In fact, I probably took pains to get them the way they are. Not to mention, the facial caress always comes after the guy has stared at the girl for a good long look-see. Don’t stare. It’s not romantic. It’s just uncomfortable.
4. Professing anything in the pouring rain
I just recently saw this on a TV show: The couple was in separate cars; rain was coming down in absolute buckets. Naturally, at a time like this, emotions run rampant. The girl gets out of her car – she’s soaked within a minute – and implores the guy to get out of his car as well (she knocks on the window). They profess undying love. Now here we are – both parties soaked to the core – in love, but soaked to the core. Now what? In the movies, they cut away, but in real life you can’t do that. Do you just get in your separate cars and go home as planned? Or, since you’re now in love, do you both get in one car? But then – whose car bears the brunt of all the rain-soaked clothes and shoes and feet? Why is rain supposed to make things more romantic anyway? It frizzes my hair out, so if you knock on my car window to profess your undying love in the pouring rain, you can bet I’ll stay inside the vehicle.
I know I’m going to get a lot of flack here, because I know there are tons of girls who disagree with me on this, but I had to include it. Don’t get me wrong – I love flowers just as much as the next guy – a good potted geranium or a full-figured hydrangea bush. But “romantic” bouquets are just not my thing. I’m not saying I’ll puke all over a bouquet of flowers if you give them to me, but I don’t find them to be romantic. And if you’re going to get me something that will die in a week, make it a goldfish – I’ll get much more enjoyment out of that. It’s just that flowers are tired and overdone, and when you show up at my house for our first date with a half-dozen roses, I have to stop, exclaim over them, drop everything and find a vase, which I probably have up on a high shelf somewhere if I have one at all, which means I either do the whole step-stool thing or I put your well-intentioned gift in a recycled Big Gulp cup. Now that’s romantic.