The world belongs to the prettiest humans among us. To many, this goes without saying. It’s always been this way. We upright-striding, possessors of questionable cognitive bandwidth, and blight bringers upon the wondrous Earth are visual creatures. Our vision targets someone and then our brain is either pleased, bored, or is just hoping we pick up the grass-fed, free range, pasture raised, step 57, avocado bathed, coconut & oatmeal fed, artisan educated, prayed for by monks, organic ground sirloin for burger night. It’s those with beauty at the front of most queues. We don’t feel ashamed for the rest of you normals. Hey guys, do you care to test this theory in a live setting? Approach the woman in the cereal aisle with that lame joke that you continue to unleash upon the (ever-dwindling) innocent world because your ex - your ex; remember that - laughed at it. Once.
A swift, “You’re creepy” hits you squarely in the stomach before you snatch that last box of honey almond granola. You flirted and it’s left you embarrassed and self-loathing. You scurry towards the frozen section and remove from your cart the oatmilk ice cream you tolerate in favor of the full fat, made-with-egg yolks, whole milk and heavy cream treat that you desire to cuddle your ego.
What went wrong with the joke? One, it wasn’t funny.
“What did I do wrong?”
You ask internally on a loop during the walk to your car. No answer pleases you. None will, actually. As you roll down your window after starting your car, you spot the same girl twirling her hair and and giggling at a monologue that could be administered to send DNR patients and their healthy loved ones to the next life (if that exists).
Then, you’re aghast while she takes his phone and programs her REAL number into it. Suddenly, the urge to run them both over sneaks into your fingers. You…could try. There are too many cameras around. No. Your competition even gets the flirty, lingering, hand-grab after pulling away from hugging her.
“She hugged him too?!”
Sorry, man. Yes. She allowed it.
Finally, you drive to the exit where he confidently gives you the what’s up head nod as he passes the nose of your car to enter the supermarket. Unaware you want to kill him. She pulls up next to you, basking in the quick interaction that will surely yield at least one date if the parking lot guy isn’t a serial killer. (Man, I’m sure talking about murder a lot.) A ruthless tilt of her head; she stares daggers at you - and cuts you off to beat you out of the busy parking lot.
“What the hell went wrong?” you say loudly in the safety of your vehicle.
Nothing. Except for the reality that she didn’t think you were attractive. You’re not ugly but you can’t tell that to her. People like what they like.
In your defense, your setup and punchline are two degrees better than his terrible workshopped stand-up routine that hasn’t done well at open mic in three years. He dabbles as a comedian on the side. He’s a techie for the real career. The one that keeps him in a two-bedroom penthouse in the expensive section of the city. You know it.
You met a girl for a first date recently at a building halfway down the block from his and there was no free parking. Even after 9 p.m. there’s still a hefty fee. He has two reserved parking spots inside his building. It’s a private lot inside of a private lot. Comedy is the dream hustle. Yes, he’s attractive, rich, young, and a year or two away from a guaranteed Netflix comedy special on his struggle to make it.
You get labeled a “creep” by her. He doesn’t. He’s “cute.”
There are two quick rules to cement into your brain if you’re out here in the pit of these dating streets:
Be attractive.
Don’t be unattractive.
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