“I don’t think I’m ever getting married,” John said.
“What’s wrong? You can’t find the right girl?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve found the right girl dozens of times,” he said. “I just don’t have any success with them after I meet them.”
“Do you sweet talk them?”
“I try,” he said. “I guess I don’t know how to do it right. Women want to know how you feel about things. I can’t do that with a complete stranger. I waste so much time with small talk that they soon get bored and we’re done.”
“John, women do want to know your feelings. You have to break out and start speaking your mind.”
“I’ll do it!” he said. “I’m going to Ladies Night tonight and if I get into a conversation with a woman I’m going to tell her exactly how I feel.”
John stopped by to have coffee with me on Friday. He had a black eye and a bandage on his forehead.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“It’s all your fault, he said. “You told me to speak up to women and say what’s on my mind.”
“What does that have to do with your black eye?”
“It was at Ladies’ Night,” he said. “I was standing by the bar checking out the dancers. All of a sudden somebody grabbed my butt and said, ‘Nice buns.’ I turned around to face a fat, ugly girl with bad breath. She said, ‘Hey, cutie. Do you have a phone number?’ I said, ‘Do you have a pen?’ She said, ‘I sure do.’ The last thing I remember was saying, ‘If you have a pen you’d better get back in it before the farmer misses you.’”
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