Cupid Hates Me: True Dating Tales of the Self-Proclaimed Sexy Ogre

By Wedge Stevens

Most of us have been there: that horrible, God-awful date you just cant wait to get home and dish about with your friends, then eat a big bowl of ice cream while you soak in the tub watching some funny show streaming on your smartphone. To those who havent had that experience: we hate you. Luckily for the rest of us, one man is brave enough to face the madness of dating in this crazy world. He goes into the dating battle armed only with his resolve to meet The One. Will he meet her? Will she meet him? How many cats does it take to make you crazy? All these issues and more are tackled by our brave warrior, Wedge Stevens. Yes, maidens will forever sing of his glorious battles in the dating world.

Seriously, though, many of us have struggled through the dating world, searching high and low for our true love. Some find that love, and for those who dont, well, its nice to know youre not alone. For Wedge, it was all about the chase. Now, its about the laugh.

So sit back, put your feet up, grab a spoon, and hopefully laugh a little as Wedge reveals all the evidence he has proving his case that, as he puts it, Cupid Hates Me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532015236

Wedge Stevens

Wedge Stevens has been a restaurant manager, father to a small village of children, slayer of personal demons, dating expert (if there is such an animal), formerly homeless, and big dreamer. No one is foolish enough to marry him. This is his first book, and with support, it will not be his last. He lives somewhere in America.

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Copyright © 2017 Wedge Stevens.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-1521-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1522-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1523-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017904053

iUniverse rev. date: 08/08/2017

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

1 GRANDMOTHER

2 Margaret

3 BRANDI

4 TMNT SISTER

5 POINT GUARD and FAITH

6 CHEERLEADER

7 REDHEAD

8 SLIMER

9 SPEECHGIRL, BOOKWORM, LIBRARIAN

10 AUSTIN

11 SPRING

12 THE 3 MUSK-ETTES

13 JP

14 CLASS PRESIDENT

15 TAMAR

16 CANDY

17 SNAP and GINGER

18 CYCLONE

19 GODIVA

20 RETAIL GIRL

21 PANDA

22 CO-WORKER

23 HEAVAN

24 MOVIE STAR

25 SANDY BEACH

26 PEANUT BUTTER CUP (P.B.C.)

27 BOOKWORM 2

28 SOPRANO

29 MARK and MARY

30 STROLLER

31 MARA

32 MIA, ANTEATER, and PERSIA

33 BAKER GIRL

34 DIAMOND

35 CAPRI

36 FIREFOX

37 SALOME

38 ASHLY

39 PREDATOR

40 OLGA

41 FERANGI

42 VIVI and ANNA

43 MISSY and MARIA

44 COUGAR

45 DD

46 POOKIE

47 CIDER

48 TEACHER (KATHLEEN)

49 GIGGLES

50 SWEET JASMINE

51 CHATTER

52 TAT

53 PIRATE QUEEN

54 SICILY

55 PRINCETAPHER

56 SCARLETand IDAHO

57 FISHNET

58 GRATITUDE

THE DELETED SCENES

WHAT’S LEFT TO SAY?

THE ORIGINAL OPENING:

ENDING NUMBER THREE:

Please be assured, the names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent…

And the GUILTY….

mockup2heart.psd

A very special greeting goes out to a man who simply told me The difference between you and a (certain) billionaire is that you buy his gimmick, while he buys his own. So Thank You Honky Tonk Man. See, I bought into me.

Another huge Thank You to the team of incredible ladies who made this book possible with their editing efforts. To Hallee, Virginia, Virginia, and Connie I truly could not have accomplished this without you.

Prologue

To say I was in shock would have been a gross understatement as my jaw almost smacked into the table just under my now stark white face. Let me set the scene for you.

There are three of us at a table in a nice Mexican place. Two of us were on a date, the third was included last second. There was lots of laughter and fun had by all. The youngest person at the table and I had been bonding and just in general having a good time when the cell phone of the actual date rang. She then uttered words into that object that would forever haunt me. In that moment my mind rewound itself and began to question how I had gotten myself in this situation to begin with. The memory started from the beginning.

I had been trying for months to get a date with this beautiful redhead named Velvet. It always seemed that no matter what I did to try and attract her attention, she always looked past me. Well, that was until I accidentally bumped her butt. That is in all literal talk, I actually bumped her butt with my hip, turned as red as a lobster freshly steamed, apologized until Valentine’s Day rolled around, only to be greeted with a warm smile and a few brief moments of flirtatious banter. Now, after months of effort, and that small amount of physical contact, I finally landed a date. The problem was now I was on said date.

Problem number 1: I was informed at the last possible second, and by that I mean after arriving to pick her up, that she no longer had a baby sitter and would have to either cancel the date, or bring along her three year old daughter. I’m not one to shy away from kids, I have a small herd myself I’m responsible for. The problem with this new wrinkle was it threw off my entire plan of action for the evening. No more reservations at a nice dinner location, or walking hand in hand along the shore/path/park whatever. Anyone who knows me knows I can roll with the punches. So okay, I now have two beautiful dinner dates.

Problem number 2: Am I the only one who thinks that cell phones are the worst devices ever created? They have single-handedly taken us from being smart and social creatures to dumbed down selfie addicts who have no earthly idea how to maintain a conversation face to face for longer than forty-five seconds. I mean, if you look at the true origin of a cell phone I’m pretty sure you would see the patent application was signed by Satan.

So here the three of us are, having some laughs, just ate a great Mexican meal, simply enjoying each other. Her daughter and I are playing a game on her placemat when surprise, surprise, her cell phone goes off. Not my favorite device and she lost points for answering it while on a date. However, what took place next cannot be made up, nor could I have ever conceived I would hear these things. Let me assure you now I really dislike swearing. But as famed author Mick Foley said in his comedy show, A curse word is like a well-timed chair shot to the head in pro wrestling. If over-used it becomes vulgar and disturbing, but if used at the right time in the right moment it has a brilliant effect and gets the point across. Here is my one chair shot in this book.

The phone goes off, she smiles and mouths the word Sorry to me. I smile and go back to whatever doodle her daughter and I were creating.

Oh, it’s you. I hear in a surprised voice.

No you didn’t bother us at all. We’re out to eat with a friend. Red flag number one, she said Friend not date. Move to def-con 1. Yellow alert.

No, it’s fine really. pauses Uh-huh, Uh-huh. Yeah, that was really great. She laughs. Yes, that was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed myself. From this end, this sounds fishy, but don’t overplay it.

Hey, I was thinking… I said softly. I got a response from her of one finger in the air telling me to shush. Elevating warning levels to Def-Con 2. Repeat, Def -Con 2, Red alert.

Yeah, I would like to see you too. Listen I’m almost done here, how about we meet up in like an hour and fuck for a while? Did I hear her right? Did she really just say what I thought she said? In front of her daughter?! And on a date, she just planned a booty call?!! No, no I couldn’t have possibly heard that right. No one has such little tact right?

Did you, did you just ask someone over to, you know?

A moment of confusion crosses her face as she looks at me somewhat perplexed.

Yeah, sorry you heard that. But honestly it’s not like we’re exclusive or anything. Once we get to that point… My ears exploded as nuclear shells were fired from my ears to my heart. I mean, I’ve met a lot of cold-hearted people, and I’ve met a lot of socially awkward people, but this was a pure breech of the proper decorum for any civilized person claiming to be a model woman in any society outside the Roman Empire.

I’m sure you will be shocked to find out there was no second date. Had it not been for the child, she would have been walking back home. Ok, probably not, seeing as I do have some pieces of what was a good-natured heart left. But I would have glared at her sternly during the ride and been thinking of a million and one ways to poop on her lawn.

So as you can guess, the war I’ve waged on love has been long, brutal, and tough. It has left me bitter and jaded to a point, hence the nickname the Sexy Ogre. I mean, Brad Pitt I will never be, but I could have gotten Fiona had Shrek not beaten me to the punch. All of that leads to this…a well thought out description of the ups and (mostly) downs of love in my life and the costs of such adventures. I have done my best to protect those involved, including myself, by changing the names, locations and in some instances, certain details. I’m not out to hurt anyone, I just have some good stories to tell.

What would lead me to write such a book? Well, to make you laugh and to give you lovelorn, jaded people out there hope that you’re not the only ones struggling. That and I also want to prove that no matter how badly you mess your life up, its’ never too late to reach your goals, and writing a book has been one of my dreams since I was eleven years old. You should know that I genuinely believe Love will find you, I promise. I mean, if Hugh Hefner can get three girlfriends at the age of 80, why not you? So sit back, relax, and hopefully prepare to laugh as I show you how I know Cupid hates me.

1

The Eldest Know Best, or Do They?

We all have members of our family that are crazy. You know the ones I’m talking about. You could swear they’re certifiably nuts, and yet you love them beyond repair. Well, mine is not hard to find for she raised me, loved me, and always thought I would become incredibly mediocre. No, I’m not talking about my mother; she’s evaded my questioning and therefore will be placed on the Do Not Call list. No, this would be…my Grandmother (insert music of revelation here.)

Because of my mom’s profession (she was in the Air Force, or a gypsy I never really knew), my grandmother took care of me and my darling lass of a sister for the majority of my youth. She did her best to raise us, while my sister and I did our best to drive her insane. She was more like a mom to me than my actual mom was, even to the point of looking after me and attempting to ready me for dating and such. My grandmother really thought I was going to have talent with the ladies. This is also where I grew my amazing sarcastic side that everyone loves so much. Oh, it’s true. When I was five, she set me up with some pans from the kitchen and looked at me with her loving eyes. Wedgie dear, she said with a soft, yet stern voice. Of course, all my friends never let that name go after they heard her nickname for me one fateful afternoon later in my life. If a man is going to live alone his whole life, he needs to know how to cook for himself. Yes, oh such confidence in me. Alone. Forever. Cursed at the age of 5.

With that began my lessons on how to create cakes and all sorts of dishes for myself. You know, break-up comfort food. The recipes were always just big enough for one, except for the baked goods I learned how to make. Those were meant to be shared with co-workers in the office to demonstrate what a wonderful house-husband I would be for my future wife. That is, if I was so fortunate to find a woman who could tolerate me. I would have made a great homemaker if I wasn’t so consumed by my love of football, pro wrestling, and oh, women. But that’s a whole different story.

She was a great woman, and as I sit here writing this book, she still is. She has a very caring heart and a forgiving spirit that even Job would admire. I think she and Job actually went to prom together… But if there is one truth to tell about her, the woman could cook. In fact, she was so good that one of my ex-girlfriends, who happened to be a nurse and a cook, stole a few recipes from her. I would have loved to see her in kitchen stadium against Amanda Freitag, or Bobby Flay.

She also instilled in me the basics of dating. And by instilled I mean pounded. I learned that a man always pays for everything. And if he doesn’t, and his grandmother finds out about it, he gets slapped in the back of the head. I learned that a man is to be respectful of a lady’s feelings and her body. If he isn’t, and his grandmother finds out about it, he gets a beating. I learned a man always drives his lady around, for she is precious cargo. If he doesn’t, and his grandmother finds out about it, he becomes a hood ornament.

That doesn’t mean she didn’t have a way about her that instilled fear and laughter at the same time. You just never really knew what you were going to get from her. It always depended on the situation. I remember once in high school when a girl wanted to cook me dinner. She came over to my house with all her supplies to make this meal. Understand, I was only in high school at the time, so the meal seemed extravagant to me, but it was really quite simple, consisting only of spaghetti and garlic bread. This poor girl arrived at the house ready to go, fully prepared to make a wonderful meal. She was first greeted by my grandmother, who shot her a disapproving look. The entire time this young woman spent attempting to create this marvelous meal, my grandmother was harping on her, barking orders, telling her she wasn’t doing it right, and asking how she could be so foolish as to use the good pans for this. And it continued. Why wasn’t she making her own sauce? Why use butter to loosen the noodles when olive oil is much better for you? Intense would not even begin to cover what watching this, this, this massacre was like. I actually think I saw Gordon Ramsay in the corner taking notes on how to raise fire and brimstone in a kitchen.

But the persecution didn’t stop there. There was another girl I was forbidden to date because she had the same last name as one of my grandmother’s old rivals from school. One girl’s dad was less than reputable, so that was a no-go. Another girl was too polished, so of course I couldn’t get mixed up in that mess, as she put it. In the entire town of ten thousand people, not one girl reached the standards of my grandmother’s ever-watching eye. Frodo had an easier time getting into Mordor than I had getting a date when I was young.

This of course made dating exciting, because in order for it to be successful, I had to think like James Bond in order to get anywhere. Think sneaking out of the house and trying not to make a sound, just so I could spend twenty minutes in a deserted field with some lass. I would move to the phone late at night like there was some kind of high alarm system on guard. Which in some ways I guess there was, because she had the hearing of a hawk even in her deadest of sleeps. More than once I hung up on a girl just to run to the bathroom so I could pretend that was the reason I was down there in the first place. I even developed code words to hide who I was really talking to. It was real complicated and complex stuff. Do you remember how exciting love was when you were a teenager? I certainly do.

Luckily, I wasn’t the only one who received these unfortunate lessons. The problem was that I was there for two lessons that would change my view of my grandmother forever. I should mention that teenage pregnancy is like The Force for my family. My Grandmother had it, my mother had, I had it, and my sister had it. Now, I viewed her as a good kid, and the guy she was with seemed okay at the time, so I didn’t kill him. Maimed him sure, whipped him and made him walk the plank, of course, but killed, nope, not me. I may have later… But, no one can prove it… Anyway, she told us that she was pregnant, and somehow he lived through the experience.

A few weeks after all of this broke out, my family and I were relaxing after dinner. The poor boy chose this moment to bring my sister a gift that will forever haunt my life. He came strolling into the house bearing the romantic and thoughtful gift of chocolate covered cherries for my lovely younger sister. As soon as my dear old decrepit grandmother saw them, she smiled warmly and said Aren’t you a good boy, bringing her those cherries? You’re obviously trying to replace the one you took from her. Sorry sonny, the damage has already been done.

If you wanted a million dollar portrait, you should have been there to photograph all our faces in that moment. It brought a lot of stares and red faces. And hopefully the retelling of that story aroused a few smiles from you as well.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst of it. A few months after the incident, my sister, my grandma, and I were all out to lunch, enjoying a wonderful Chinese meal together. I remember this like it was yesterday, for it’s when I understood the true meaning of irony. You see, I was enjoying my delightful Happy Family (Chinese meal) inside this great little restaurant, when out of nowhere my grandmother turns to my little sixteen year old sister and says, You know, you can’t have sex for the first six weeks after you have the baby. So this is how you take care of Jason’s needs in the meantime. She then went into great detail about how to give oral sex, as well as a few other pointers. My happy family, food and otherwise, was ruined… forever. I think I went deaf for about three hours that day, and never quite got all of my hearing back.

Now, I will say, I got a few good things from this woman. She taught me what grace is when she forgave, not only me but others who had harmed her. She demonstrated the purest form of love by moving to France with my poor madre to help alleviate the stress that living in a different country would create. At one point she even stood with a literal gun to head trying to defend me when I was about 4. Such is the size of her heart that she could forgive this person. That was the greatest lesson I learned, and truest form of godliness shown in my life.

Yes, she and I had our differences, and not little ones. She did put one of my pets to sleep and gave another away while I was in college six states away. She did, however, allow my current cats to live with her during the flood of 2008.

I think it’s safe to say that we learn how to love from watching those who raised us. If your mom or dad was resistant to public displays of affection, you are probably resistant to such displays yourself. If your mom was always hurt because your dad never came home until late at night, you’re probably careful of that too. Of course, if your dad was a male stripper, you might feel like he really didn’t have a choice, or did he?! My point is that we tend to mirror what we have seen in our lives, for better or for worse, which is why I was doomed before my love life even got started.

So lessons I learned? 1. A man destined to be alone should know how to cook, and bake. 2. If a woman gives you a child, for the next six weeks she may be giving you other gifts as well. 3. Once you have taken a cherry away, you can never give it back (especially if you have eaten said cherry). 4. Love is a powerful thing that can be used to enrich your life.

Additionally, I learned that there are eight words that will save a man a lot of time and trouble in a relationship with a woman, any woman, if he learns to use them. They are: you’re right, I’m wrong, I’m sorry, and yes dear / ma’am / honey / Ms. Stevens / or any other title I may have missed.

You can either be right or you can be happy. There are no exceptions or middle ground. If she is wrong and you gloat about it, you could find yourself sleeping in the doghouse without any treats. If you smile about it, you could be wiped off the face of the earth with a simple glare, and fellows, you know the glare I’m talking about. It’s easy to spot and impossible to forget. If you need further examples of this expression, please watch Keeping Up Appearances wherever you can find British television. Jeff Allen also knows a thing or two, watch his takes some time.

The last lesson is one I will cherish forever. It is by far the most important lesson I have learned. It may have cost me my soul mate, but it is still of utmost value to me. Never forget who you have, what they are to you, and how they help you grow. Never stop dating, pursuing, or striving to capture her heart all over again. I really think that needs to go both ways, but still, the lesson is valuable to me. Guys, pursue your lady, and the ladies should pursue their guys, at least occasionally. So often we get in a tough spot and forget who we are standing beside, and why. I have cherished and cared for many women in my life (as you will soon find out), but I only felt defeated if I didn’t give the relationship my all.

I always want someone I’m in love with to know that I’m theirs without question. I’m the sappy romantic that will write her a poem, or a story, make a flag, or a blanket, but I always give her a small token of my love somehow. I want her to be the subject of jealousy as other envious on-lookers watch flowers get laid on her desk from her doting boyfriend. I wish to be reminded how important I am to someone, so why wouldn’t I do the same for her? In that effort, sometimes I come on too strong, or the gesture is perceived in a weird way. We’ll get to all that later. But for now, take a second and remind yourself why you are with who you are, and don’t use the cop-out I hear all the time, I’m not sure why I am. Maybe you’ve just hit a rough patch. That’s no reason to pack it in. The greatest gift we can give out of love is… forgiveness. A lesson I struggle with every day. That includes me, and people very close to me. Weird how you are the hardest person to forgive? I know I still hold myself accountable for so much. Oh well, moving on…NEXT!!!

2

You Win Some, You Lose Some, and You Cry a Lot

Do you remember your first heartbreak? How traumatic was that for you? Do you still remember the pain, the sorrow? How did it happen? Do you ever feel un-fresh in the middle of the day? Most importantly, how old were you? Twelve? Fifteen? Eighteen? For me, I was the ripe old age of six. That’s right, you heard me correctly; I was six years old. Would you like to hear the story? Of course you would. Not that you have much choice in the matter anyway, otherwise you wouldn’t have picked up this book to read in the first place. So I shall bear my shame for you and retell this painful and dramatic story of true love gone wrong.

It was a cold and dark, mid-August day in Russia. The skies were gloomy, and the mood was dreary. I had just arrived at my dreaded babysitter’s house from a long, hard day of first grade. My pal Dennis Everyman and I had just gotten off the bus and we were looking forward to an after school shot of milk, and maybe some cookies. We had been discussing it ever since we had gotten on that God-forsaken death trap of a vehicle that took us to complete boredom every day.

No sooner had we dragged our overworked and underpaid little bodies in the house than the onslaught of the yapping babysitter began. (The babysitter being Dennis’ mom, of course.) She began to shoo us into the kitchen where our long awaited treats were waiting for us. I had just thrown back a shot of cow’s juice and was waiting for a refill when my life would change… forever.

You see, as I sat there waiting impatiently for my empty glass to be refilled, I heard a magical phrase that sparked an interest in me; I could not even understand how deep it ran. It was the birth of a beast so fearsome I would have to wrestle with it for the next thousand years. At least it’s felt like a thousand years. Its name was… Desire. Or whatever word you would use to describe that feeling in a six year old. The phrase still resonates in my mind.

Dennis, your sister Margaret will be home soon. Get your stuff picked up right now young man. Yes, truly heart wrenching stuff, I know. But I am a man after all, and any phrase said in the right way can turn us into quivering bowls of jelly. Case in point if your girl says "I’m in the mood for the good stuff as soon as you wash the dishes, fold laundry, and plunge the toilet then all of those things will happen in a fast destructive and probably not very neat way. Back to our story.

Dennis’ sister was coming home. Important fact here, I had never met her. That didn’t mean I didn’t know I wanted to meet her. Oh golly, look at the time, she would be here shortly. What do I do? What do I say? Did my clothes look OK? Did I have time to fix them if they weren’t? Could my cowlick be standing up any straighter right now? Why did I wear corduroys? Could I recover from such violent and terrible mistakes?

The answer came in the form of a door slowly opening. I turned just in time to watch it creep open at dramatic speed that any Hollywood director would be proud of. The slowness only increased the anticipation of meeting the ever-beautiful, the ever-charming, and always dignified Margaret.

As the door swung open, in walked…my MOM?!!! Unfortunately, God had other plans. Okay, no big deal, no reason to panic, right? I can just stall until Margaret arrives. Yes, that’s it, stall. What do you do to stall someone when you’re six? The first trick that came to mind was to start talking to my mom. That worked out really well for a fraction of a second, seeing as she insisted on leaving right away so we could go get food. Rats! Foiled again!

Trick two, Mom, my stomach hurts. Her reply was unexpected.

You’re just hungry. Come on, let’s go. Your grandmother is waiting. Crap.

Third time is a charm, I have to poop.

Okay, fine. Success! I’ll help you with your pants, but we need to get a move on. Wait, what did you just say? You’re going to help me with my clothes? I’m six! I don’t need your help. Crap again. Except this time I literally have to force crap out of me. Unless I just fake it. Yes faking is good, RIGHT LADIES? (wink, wink)

After a few minutes of playing like I’m pooping, I finally get my bluff called, and with a lot of resignation, come out of the bathroom nearly in tears.

Wait! That’s it! Tears!! No one can stand a little tear action. Have I ever mentioned I’m slightly overdramatic?

At first they were just a dribble. Mom asked me, What’s wrong? as she had my coat in hand, trying to put it on my quivering shoulders. It wasn’t working. So I began to let the tears pour out of me even more, and more still. Finally, I was in a full out tantrum. I was kicking, screaming, flailing about, with tears running down my cheeks and snot bubbling around my nose. I was in self-defense mode. I just had to see Margaret who, as stated, I had never once before met.

My mother is of course, flabbergasted as well as totally embarrassed by the behavior of her son. The babysitter came over to make sure that I was okay. Dennis was just watching all this go down in stunned silence. Had this been today’s world, his iPhone would have been out and thirty seconds after this incident, I would have been YouTube gold. So there I was a wreck, and losing my battle very quickly.

As the chaos continued, the door opened and in walks the golden beauty herself. Not that I got a clean look at her with my water soaked eyes while my mother was trying to remove the snot from my face. Before I knew it, I was scooped into the air and carried out of the house, all the while trying, not only look at dear sweet Margaret, but say something, anything. I’m not really sure what came out of my mouth as we passed her, but I do remember hearing her say Spaz pretty plainly. I had failed in my quest. Oh, the horror of my failure landed on me and knocked the wind out of my little lungs. Well, that, and the disgusted way my mother roughly set me in the car because of her total humiliation. I think she even overpaid the sitter that day for my presentation. I should have been nominated for the best supporting actor award for my performance.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is the account of the first time I got shot down. It wasn’t pretty, and it still isn’t when I think about it today. I tend not to cry about the pain a woman causes in public nearly as much these days. There may have been an occasion or two where I succumbed to sadness in front of others. We’ll get to those soon. As for what I took away from my experience? Well, there are a few things.

1. Never cry during a first meeting with a potential date you’re crushing on. They don’t like it… apparently. 2. Confidence is king, or so I’ve been told. (I wouldn’t know from experience, but I’ll take their word for it.) 3. Don’t let your mom fight your battles for you. I know she didn’t in this case, so maybe it should be: Don’t fight with your mother in front of them. It shows a lack of respect. 4. It’s hard to get a date when you’re being escorted out of an establishment crying like a child and looking like a fool. Remember that on Saturday night at the club. 5. You only get one meeting to make an impression that will last. She will either remember you fondly, negatively, or not at all. Do something memorable, but not degrading. 6. There’s a lot more I needed to learn about the female kind.

I wish I could say these lessons prepared me for my next encounter with the opposite sex, but no one coached me on how to implement these lessons. So, as my first experience interacting with a beautiful woman, it’s safe to say that the Hindenburg fared better than I.

3

Where Exactly Do You Want Me to Go with You? I’m Probably Going to Have to Get Permission

A rather bizarre thing happened to me when I was in the fifth grade. Yes, I said the fifth grade; funny how those early encounters can change how you approach the world. Lucky for me, I didn’t need to approach her, she happened to approach me. How about that for game?

So there I was, standing by my locker, getting to know the boy who was my locker neighbor. I remember talking to him when he began looking over my shoulder, and all of a sudden, he became very quiet. When I turned around to see what had gotten his attention, I was greeted by a face-to-face encounter with a little girl named Brandi (yes, it was spelled with an i).The softness of her brown hair mixed with the fact that she was a little shorter than I made her adorably cute to me. She was acting a little shy, but it was also clear that she wanted something and was willing to take a risk for it. It didn’t take long to find out why she was standing there.

Hi, Wedge, I’m Brandi, and well, I was wondering if you would like to go with me? Yes, that was exactly her opening line. Had I used that line, she would have snickered and walked away to tell all her friends about the little boy who couldn’t be a little more sophisticated. But, as it turns out, she was a girl, and their rules of engagement are far different. They can be as blunt as a baseball bat to the groin and it’s sexy, and acceptable, but we have to be a little more diplomatic about our intentions of our…um…heart? Yes, yes our heart.

Now, you have to understand that no one, and I mean no one, had prepared me for the nature and terminology of fifth grade romances that occur in every school from here to Zimbabwe. Not my mom, not my grandmother, not even my cousins. This was all foreign soil to me. So I responded with the only phrase I knew how to respond with, and I must say, I was rather charming.

"Hi, Brandi. Umm… I’m not really sure where you’re asking me to go with you to, but I’m pretty sure I’ll have to get permission to go. My Grandmother is