Debby didn’t show up for our date again. I knew she went out with somebody else instead. I wrote her an emotional e-mail to let her know what I thought, “Baby, please don’t lie to me. Tell me the way you want me to be, but baby, please don’t lie to me. Signify our love with honest words from your heart and not your mouth.
“Baby, please don’t use those beautiful soft lips to turn lying words into believable truth. You know when your warm sweet breath blows truth or lies into my ear, I believe any sound coming from that provocative opening will be honesty and nothing but fact.”
Disgusted for begging like this, I threw my pen on the desk, grabbed the wine bottle by its neck and swallowed sweet fermented grapes until I had to come up for breath. I knew Debby had been lying to me. I loved her so. I wanted to beg her to be true, but when I pictured myself pleading for her affections, I saw half a man on bended knee. No, I can’t do that. What could I do to make her respect me?
I did what I always did when I had a question that needed to be answered – I went on the internet. The first page that answered my inquiry said, “Women don’t want to be respected. They want to be taken. They love being treated like shit and they come back for it time and time again.”
I didn’t want to believe that, but the next page had an article from CBS that said, “Lose the smile. For guys eager to attract a mate, that might be a killer strategy, according to a surprising new study from the University of British Columbia.” It showed that women find swaggering, brooding bad boys a lot more attractive than nice guys.”
I always considered myself a nice guy, but after reading this scientific study, I figured maybe I should change. I showed up at Debby’s door and banged on it like I was the police on a drug raid. She answered with a questioning look on her face. “Get dressed, were going out,” I said in a commanding voice. The look of adoration that washed over her face when she heard those words showed me the report on CBS held some truth.
Debby got ready and I took her to a club where music played. I strutted in with a glare in my eyes and a scowl on my face. Women glanced at me and Debby grabbed me by the arm to show I was hers. First time she had ever done that. This bad boy stuff seemed to be working. When the drinks came, I said, “You pay.” She did and seemed happy to do so.
I walked to the bar where a couple sat. The guy looked like a dork, but his girl was a beauty.
“Let’s dance,” I said as I grabbed her arm. She smiled and said, “Sure.”
I glanced at Debby and saw the anger in her eyes. I looked at my dancing partner’s guy and saw hate emanating toward me. That was all good. I was being bad, and I liked the feeling I had. I ditched the bitch I danced with and returned to sit with Debby. “Buy me another beer,” I told her, and she did. After five or six beers, I found acting the bad boy to be exhilarating.
Debby drove home because I could hardly see straight from all I drank. I wanted to show her I could drink as much as she was willing to buy, and she never stopped buying. We stood at her door and I figured I’d top of the night with a slap to Debby’s face, just to let her know who was boss.
I raised my arm in order to give her one hard enough to rattle her brain, and as I started my forward swing she grabbed my wrist, twisted my arm behind my back, handcuffed me and said, “This is to let you know who’s in charge. Next time you show up at my door unannounced I’ll whip your ass. Understand?”
The scientific study didn’t say anything about this. What was I to do next? I had no idea and needed to go online to find out. I struggled to get free, but couldn’t. She bent over and
whispered into my ear, “Baby, please don’t lie to me. Tell me the way you want me to be, but baby, please don’t lie to me. Signify our love with honest words from your heart and not your mouth, and if you ever try to hit me again, you’ll spend time in jail.”
Frustrated tears fell from my eyes and washed away any image Debby or I ever had of me being a bad boy.