You Know She Wants It
Part Seven: a very special dating brochure fell into my hands, and it was just too good to keep to myself.
Things now move from the public (sidewalk meetings, cafés and random dancefloor encounters) to the private (tickling, giggling, and making a serious move). Try to keep up, as we cover the crucial steps that help a man decipher what a lady wants.
EVERY GIRL WANTS TO BE PICKED UP
“Are you not pleased your Dad picked up your mother? Or else, you wouldn’t be here! All sorts of women get picked up. Everywhere. Everyday. In every way! Think about it this way. If you don’t pick them up, someone else will. Even if you are formally introduced to your next girl, you still have to use most of the techniques outlined in this report to have your relationship work out satisfactorily.
Girls are naturally terrified at times to be picked up, or admitting it to someone else that they were picked up. After all, since they were little girls, their mother has been telling them about the big bad wolves that are going to be after their bodies. Therefore, by picking them up with the best approach (“can you help me?”), they can always tell their friends, “This wonderful man I met stopped and asked me directions to the library, and then next thing we knew, we were talking about things of mutual interest.”
Queens and princesses get picked up. Also secretaries, book keepers, nurses, librarians. Time and time again, too. They love being picked up. Should your first attempt not be successful, you can feel confident they appreciated your attempt. After all, these girls go through their lives day after day with regular things happening to them. Not too much excitement or charming incidents come their way. They feel great when someone takes out the time to flatter their ego with an attempt to date.”
Well, I cannot argue with that. It’s true, my job is the wrong kind of exciting, I am not surrounded by handsome men all day, and yes, I am paid to be polite to my colleagues, clients, callers and in-person visitors. And yet somewhere, I sense a disconnect between being paid to treat people nicely and being a “sitting duck”, at the mercy of any man who wants to chat me up. Oh that’s right…it’s called sexual harrassment! Yeah. The only thing that could make my workday even better than it already is would be a pick-up.
“Be sure to have a pen or pencil ready to take down the girl’s telephone number. A black book may be alright, but it could be too obvious to the girl. Have a folded piece of paper in your pocket and fish this out, write her name and telephone number on it. If you don’t get her address at first, forget it. Her first name and telephone number are all you need to get into action. Remember, you have to take down her name and number before you can take down her panties!”
Oh. Oh my. Oh no. For real?
At first, I was charmed by the quaintness of the pre-cellphone days, and the potential that etiquette will be breached when the man draws out a tell-tale little black book. I remember my own address book, tiny and blue with gold embossed letters and little tiered paper tabs for each letter. Erasing and writing in changes of address and telephone number, meanly scribbling out former boyfriends who could now just fuck off and die, and who cares anyhow that now he’s in love with Tammy from down the block?
But the panties. Good grief. You have to take down my number before you can take down my knickers?! I suppose it’s better than suggesting that the underpants are the only concern, and forget about the phone number ’cause you’re never calling her again.