No Thanks, Mate

As a newly christened post-grad--one of the lucky few catapulted into society without any useful skills--the learning curve of life has been a steep one. It isn't so much paying the rent (I live at home), scouring for 99 cent deals on groceries (my mom, bless her heart, still cooks), or even foregoing cable television to buy a car (I've had one since college) that's difficult. It's the social aspect. Namely, guys.

Some of you might have heard the adage: "Men are dogs." This is entirely true. No, they're not the loyal, slobbering-but-endearing type that bring a smile to your face after a long day in the trenches, but rather the dry-humping, pee-all-over-the-carpet kind that you can't seem to get rid of fast enough. Armed with a bank account and unctuous Armani shirts from the discount section, these creatures are unleashed en masse upon the world with a singular thought in mind: Get laid at all costs.

Let me illustrate with a true story.

I was at a happy hour mingling with people interested in improving their language skills. As I chatted with a bubbly Japanese woman on my left, I barely noticed the unassuming Australian guy on my right. Barely noticed, that is, until he introduced himself to me as "D-bag" (pseudonymed for privacy) and innocently inquired about my background. Giving him very little to go on, we had a surprisingly intellectual conversation and for all intents and purposes, he appeared to be a "good guy."

So we went out to dinner, a movie...even lunch. I asked if he dated often, to which he replied "not really" and indicated that he had just moved to the area and was not in any sort of relationship. Having been accused of being intensely cynical (can you blame me?), I decided to try on the optimist's hat. Who says that you can't meet a nice guy randomly?

So one day, D-bag calls me and asks: "Would you like to accompany me to a work function next weekend? I'm going to Guyana on business, but will be back before Friday."

I tentatively agreed. He said he'd call before Friday.

So a week goes by and no call. One of my friends wanted to go out and since I am a stickler for promises, I call him to see what's up. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I can't make it to the event because I won't be back from Guyana. Let's get lunch on Saturday instead." Sure. Unforseen circumstances. I understand.

Two days later, I get this email:

"hi honey,

i'm making dinner right now. i know aren't u surprised? i wanted to tell you that you presented yourself very nicely at my work function. you were very beautiful and im glad you could come.

also, im' sorry for making u cry...im not good at saying what i think but we are a good combination. our problems are not as bad as other couples and i hope you will forgive me. i hate to see you cry. anyway i want to see you again so don't think too hard about things ok? they will work out. i love you.

-D-bag"

then I get another one: "please delete previous email."

In addition to his frightening inability to follow proper writing convention, D-bag was a sleazy, yellow-dog cheater. And an idiot to boot. There is no excuse for being unfaithful, but a male who cannot send emails to the right woman is just downright sad. I wrote back to the effect of: "you have serious issues to work out so don't ever contact me again," and since I haven't heard from him, I'd venture to guess he probably got the message.

In sum, I will leave you with a funny Andy Rooney quote imparted to me by a female friend:

"For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?", here's an update for you. Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage. Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage!"

Exactly.