Chapter 4

What does a Woman Want?  A Real Man

All right guys, here is the sore subject of the month.  What is a real man?  It is a difficult art being a real man on the outside when on the inside you're really afraid of water, bugs, cars, shadows, and especially other men who are really good looking, well built, athletic, and have lots of money--in other words, they are the real men.  How do you get the girl of your dreams not to fall for a guy like that and to go for someone like you?  Well let me tell you, it can be pretty tough.

Here are some rules to follow if you want your woman to think highly of you.  First, we will cover the things not to do:

Rule 1:  Do not put yourself in a position where a real real man should only be.

Do not, I repeat, do not ski down an 85 degree slope of fresh powder.  The only thing that will happen is you will look like a soft white puffy ball of arms, legs, and ski equipment streaking toward some cavernous ravine of jagged boulders.  The reason this is a bad idea is not simply because you can break every bone in your body--which is really a good idea because of the sympathy value involved--nor is it because you must be Mr. Skier of the Universe.  The real reason this must be avoided is because you don't want to look soft, white, and puffy.  You can't maintain a facade of real manliness if she has a vivid memory of you associated with soft white puffyness.  It's just simply not a good idea.

Another example of bad situations surfaces in the aquatic realm.  Do not, I repeat, do not take your surf-board out into the ocean when there are waves, not just big waves, but any waves.  Why? because if there are big waves the possibility of you becoming one with the coarse, sandy, ocean bottom is greatly increased.  Not only is oneness with the ocean bottom a bad idea, but oneness with your surfboard is also hazardous.  Big waves make oneness with pain very possible too, even probable.

Now picture this:  You're at the beach with your girl.  You're out in the water on your surfboard.  You wave to her and then immediately notice a meager little swell forming on the outside.  You get positioned, kick in, and go for it.  But what you didn't see is that this wave has gotten ugly.  There are fish bodies in it, large uprooted plants, and sections of broken boat planks.  But its too late for you to bail now.  It picks you up and drops you down a twenty foot face, careening towards the ocean bottom.  Only, you don't hit anything.  Instead, tons of racing water crash onto your feeble body and crush you onto your board which immediately fragments into a million pieces.  All your air is slammed from your squashed chest and then the wave grabs you and drags you back and forth, back and forth against the sandy ocean bottom.  Finally, it lets you pop up to the foamy surface like a little cork and spits you onto shore.  You stumble to your feet, dazed and smiling, and say to a kid with a bucket of sand, "I meant to do that." 

Pain then aids you in noticing that organic and inorganic materials have been permanently ground into your bruised and scraped carcass.

She bounces out in her bikini to meet you and says, "I've never seen anyone do that before.  It was so exciting."

I've never yet seen an adoring girl in the company of a barnacle-laden-surfer-guy's-face who owns a mangled surfboard, and struggles to stand up straight without wincing terribly.  It just doesn't look real manly--you know what I mean?  But, if it happens, at least you can earn a few sympathy points while she nurses you back to health.  But, back to the waves.

If there are small waves, then humility will be your company just as well.  If you get dusted on a small wave, that would look really bad.  If you must become fused to some coarse inorganic material at least let it be done with the aid of big, macho type waves that prove your bravery, or stupidity, instead of little wimpy waves.  But still, I recommend staying out of the water altogether.

Also, don't go rock climbing.  Only a real man should be found hanging by his fingertips over a five mile crevice.  Besides, you can't go on dates while you are in a cast, on crutches, have major head injuries, or possess several serious rope burns.  Neither of these conditions is conducive to proper wooing and should be avoided at all cost — but then again, if you are totally mangled she might just want to nurse you back to health just like the surfing debacle.

Rule 2:  Don't say things only a real man should say.

When you are in a crowded mall and a group of rowdies passes by, don't attempt to show off to your girlfriend by saying to them, "If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your grubby eyes off of her."

As sure as sharks poop in the ocean you will be in for a rather exhilarating session of being thrown from one set of fists and elbows to another.  You can never look good to a girl when you are making funny little sounds like, "oomph, auughh, cough, and gag," or while you are licking tile.  Not only will you look like a dolt, but she will probably be the one who drives you to the hospital.  This is not good and makes you look quite silly.

Rule 3:  Do not go to a fancy environment. 

Don't go to fancy places like a restaurant, ballet, or opera.  Guys are meant to snort, belch, scratch, and prop their legs up while hawking loogies into the wind.  They are not meant to eat with an extended pinky, nor should they be watching a guy in funny tights leap around a stage wiggling his toes in front of everyone.  One of the surest ways to kill a possible marriage partner is to put yourself, and her, into one of these highly dangerous situations.  For example.

You've just picked up your date for dinner and dancing.  You open the car door for her.  You offer the standard obligatory compliments on her dress, her hair, her purse, her shoes, her watch, her necklace, her perfume, her nails, her earrings, her belt, her laugh, her smile, her walk, etc. etc.  You make sure you don't close the door on her pretty little dress.  You politely urge her to wear a seat belt.  And you carefully and comfortably manage the traffic situation.  Everything is fine and you look great.  But then the trouble starts.  You get to the restaurant.  Now this just isn't any old restaurant, this is one with a French name!

You go to the door, promptly on time because you've made reservations, and you are seated in a warm, cozy, romantic booth.  She looks good.  You look good.  The atmosphere is perfect.  And then, trouble.  The menu is in French.  The numbers next to the funny looking words are big numbers, and as you look to your date you discover she has a delightful expression of euphoria.  This is the exact same sensation women get when they have a check book and are in a store that has a sale on clothes.  Its kind of like a spending frenzy where they lose control.  If you see that expression, you are in for big trouble.

The maitre'd approaches, utters a nasally foreign sentence, and stares at you.  You simply look up at him with a zero I.Q. expression and wonder what the heck is going on.  You look at your date, she's still smiling.  You look at the waiter, he's stopped smiling and then in a flash of brilliance you realize he wants you to order.  You clumsily blurt out, "Oh, yea, you want my order.  Okey dokey, let's see."  Then you get to totally thrash the entire French language with an Americanized pronunciation of something that you picked only because you better say something fast.  The waiter is not smiling and neither is your date.  Strike one.

After she orders, you discreetly attempt to match the sound of what she said with the spelling on the menu so you can find out how much it will cost.  That is when you realize that you don't know how much it's going to cost you for whatever it was you ordered.  A quick calculation and you instantly realize that you will need to sign over your car to this place.  Despite this shock, you manage to keep a whimpering kind of smile pasted on your sorry little face.  Strike two.

After some extremely witty and humorous conversation on your part, the meal arrives.  Your date lights up in delicious expectation of palate heaven as the food is served.  You look down at your plate and see... well...  You turn your head from side to side.  You rotate your plate a little and poke the mound of food with a fork.  What is it?  Don't ask me, you're the one who ordered it.

Anyway, that is when you notice an armory of silver-ware, a host of drinking glasses, and an exotically folded cloth napkin.  Panic starts to crawl up your throat and adrenaline trickles into your system.  Your hands begin to shake, your body flushes in heat and perspiration.  You're on the spot!  You have to be cultured!  What do you do?  What do you start with?  Oh no, look at all those forks!  Ah, two knives!  A herd of spoons!  Quick man get out of there!  Run!  Leave!....... Go to the bathroom!

"Excuse me," you say with the utmost charm and civility.  "I need to use the rest room."  You untangle yourself from this mess of propriety and meander, half-dazed, to the haven of relief.  Quick, splash water on your face.  Slap your self!  O.K. now, think.  Think clearly.  You look in the mirror...you don't look good.  This worries you even more.  And on top of that, you have to go back out there and face the utensils, the plates, the waiter, and that food substance you ordered, and all this, just for a girl.  Man!  That can be tough on a guy.

Once you are back at the table you manage to not talk while eating, or say something stupid.  You don't let food dribble from your mouth, and you don't spill the wine.  You manage all this, even though you use the wrong utensils.  The food substance you ordered tastes like glue and chalk mixed in salt.  She loves her dinner and you better, too.  After all, this is going to cost you your car.

Then the check arrives.  The waiter brings a little plate with a piece of paper and after a glance at the several numeric digits, you cough briefly, dig into your wallet and plop down all the cash you have, thankful you just brought enough to cover it--without tip.  You're broke and the evening is relatively young.  Strike three.

Do you see how dangerous an environment French restaurants can be.  Well, let me tell you, Italian ones are just as treacherous, unless they specialize in pizza.

Rule 4:  Don't be addicted to watching sports.

When you combine men, a ball, and space, other men seem to want to gather and watch.  There is something genetically intrinsic to our being that forces us to want to play with balls or watch other guys play with them.  We can't help it.  It isn't our fault.  Even though this is a brute fact, we must, nevertheless, curtail our urges and tear ourselves away from the televised sports event that so powerfully controls and feeds our urges.  Girls don't mind a man who likes sports.  After all it shows her that he is socially well adjusted.  But to spend all your spare time in front of the tube yelling and screaming is a bit discouraging to a woman.  Save it for after the marriage.

Next we need to discuss the rules you should do.  This is important because it is to your advantage to know what you should do as well as what you shouldn't.

Rule 1:

If you have something you can do well, whatever it is, do it.

If you play chess well, then play chess with her.  Girls are better losers than guys; after all, they marry them.  If you draw well, then do that.  Draw her. (A hint:  make her look real good.)  If you are good with cars, then fix hers; this is a sure fire way to score big big points.  If you are educated show off your knowledge a little, just enough for her to be impressed and not enough for her to know your full of it. 

You see, the variety of accomplishments that we personality laden men can excel in are numerous.  You simply need to find what yours is and "arrange" it so that you "happen" to do what it is you do well--like handling the T.V. remote.  Then twist the ball of your foot on the ground and say "Ah, shuks," when she compliments you on your great whatever-it-was-you-did.  Its easy to fake sincere humility.

Rule 2:

Worry!

Girls are unpredictable, inconsistent, and impossible to understand.  So, the only thing you can possibly do that makes any sense is to worry.  Why?  Worrying keeps you from doing something you shouldn't--like any of the three "don't" rules mentioned above.  If you worry, you will be less likely to try some male macho type maneuver that will undoubtedly leave you looking like a nerd, a butt-head, or just plain stupid.

Rule 3:

Memorize any possible romantically significant date, event, clothing, jewelry, dinner, and conversation that relates to you and the girl you are dating.  You know how they are.  They romanticize everything.  They remember the first date, the first flower, the first hug, and the first kiss.  That is why soap operas have an audience and florists stay in business.  Women are romantics. 

You've got to keep on the alert.  When you've dated one month its an anniversary.  And not only that, you better remember what she wore on your first date as well as what she ate, and what she said.  If you don't it is a sign that you don't care about her, or even that she doesn't impress you.  Forgetting anniversaries and birthdays is properly done after marriage not before.

Rule 4:

Memorize everything in this entire book and live your dating life by it. 

If you fail to heed the wisdom shared here, you will be inviting disaster.  Remember, wooing and winning women is a risky business.  You need all the help you can get.  So, memorize every word and go for it.  You'll do fine.

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