She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

Emily was a friend of a friend of a buddy. The buddy’s friend was a babe, so the line looks like this: Me, my male buddy, his female buddy Linda and then Emily. That works out to…what? three degrees of separation I guess.

Emily and Linda were tight in that competitive way of women who are in the market for men. The tacit  understanding – as this mere male observed – was that man-hunting is best attempted in pairs. Four eyes are better than two, someone will be watching your blind spot, a second opinion is often handy and so on. But when it came to the kill, any allegiance was dropped. First in, best undressed. Hey, it’s a zoo out there.

Buddy arranged a meeting with the girls. I knew Linda, but not Emily, so it was a mild double-date, not enough about which to be excited, but more than enough to be optimistic. Meeting new and recommended potential is a good deal; fresh flesh keeps the world turning.

But here’s where the world turned a little bit. That night was the first time I realized that the smartest men wait for the women to choose them. Patience and observation are the two critical skills required…a happy matter, because so few guys possess them.

Perhaps I can explain it this way: Some men spearfish. Other men bait hooks. And yet other men wait for flying fish to jump into the boat.

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