I get asked about this a lot, and now that I’ve spent a while reacquainting myself with the things I (don’t) like, I can provide a reasonably accurate list of dos and don’ts for those of you stupid enough to try falling into my orbit.
- Be cute. Pretty would be better, obviously, but cute will do. I’ve got to stare at your fucking face more than anything else, and I want to enjoy the view.
- Be hot-ish. Everything from the neck down is less important, but I’m still a dude, so give me something to work with. (Or be ready to work on it until you can.) The hottest body around isn’t gonna make up for a wonky face, and a dumpy body won’t kill cute, but if you can manage to get both into the correct range, well, bonus points for you, you sexy little freak… you can cut to the front of the line.
- Be old enough. I’d prefer you to be 25 or older. If you’re 20 to 24, you should be ready to really impress me somehow. (You figure it out.) If you’re 18 to 19, well… I hope you like jumping through hoops, ‘cause a’jumpin’ you shall be. (I need a lot of things from you, and the younger you are, the harder it is for you to provide them.)
- Be as emotionally articulate as possible. I know, it’s a tall order… but of all these hurdles, it’s one of the most important for you to clear. You’re almost certainly some kind of idiot —proven by the fact that you’ve read this far into the list— so I don’t expect communicative miracles or anything, but you need to be able to coherently talk about yourself and what my attention means to you.
- Be unencumbered. If you manage to pull this off, you should be prepared for me to become your biggest ongoing concern. A potentially oppressive one. The fewer, smaller obligations you have, the better.
- Be funny. By being stupid, clever, or finding me hilarious. (Return on investment scales up from left to right.)
- Be interesting. If you’re creative, fill your blog with your writing, photos of your ass, or photos of writing on your ass. If you’re not, then it should be full of things I find delightful: ‘90s shit, British TV, sad-girl music, angry-girl music, puppies, and photos of girls you know are prettier than you.
- Don’t be shy. If you’re expecting me to pry your dumb little thoughts and pathetic desires out of your head with a crowbar, then you should be more than cute and hot-ish… you need to be fucking special. And since you’re probably not, you’d be better served by a confessional spirit; I’m going to want you naked, in every sense.
- Don’t tell me no. I mean, obviously, you can tell me no. But every time you do, my interest in you is going to diminish a bit; particularly my sexual interest, which is largely powered by the word “yes” and the way you whine when I make something hurt.
- Be patient. It can take forever to convince me you’re worth the effort. I’m aware this is maddening, but tough shit, sweet-pea. 🙂 Dramatic gestures have been known to speed things along, but even if you do everything right —and you won’t— it’s gonna take a lot of time and effort.
- Be a fangirl. It’s impossible to overstate the value of making a pathetic spectacle of your admiration. Even if I don’t let on… I notice.
- Be relaxed. I know you feel exposed and not-so-silently judged when you talk to me, but you’re better off focusing on your need to impress me than on your fear of disappointing me. (In fact, take that as a rule of thumb in all things: need over fear.)
- Don’t be greedy. Entitled. Envious. All of them will lead you to ruin. Even you can be better than that.
- Don’t think short-term. I’ve learned my lesson: by the time I decide I want you, you’ll have been in over your head for quite a while, and your little heart is going to be stuck trailing after me for a long, long time. So bear in mind that I’m not an old bastard you’re flirting with; I’m the future you’re courting.
- Be what you are. You’re not a catch until I hook you, and you’re not a princess ‘til I crown you. You’re just a cunt. Conduct yourself accordingly, and remember your place.