When I was a kid, not saying I’m much more than that now but you know, many years ago there were movies, and like today, they showed the guidelines for dating and human behaviour.
In these old movies there’d be some woman, some upstart woman, and the guy would come along and say, “Hello beautiful,” and the woman would be all like, “Go away I’m busy,” and the guy would go away, but he’d soon be back.
“Hello beautiful,” he’d say, this time with flowers.
She’d be all like, “Go away. I’m busy. I’m working the family oil farm all by myself, and getting a doctorate, which means I’m planning to become a doctor, and I’m doing something else, something, rule of three, because I’m a strong independent woman.”
And the guy would go away, and then come back, all smiles, holding a wrench to fix something, something rule of three, saying “Hello beautiful,” and this would be alright. He’d fix her problem, because after all he’s a man and he can fix women’s issues. Not all women’s issues. Some of them are aided by tampons. You don’t actually need a man with a wrench or spanner or some cleaving equipment in that situation. I’m not saying men are needed to fix any issue. That’s just what happens in these movies. You know?
I’m looking at the audience (that’s you) and I think I’m okay with that point. Am I okay? I’m getting a head nod from the woman in the front row but I’m not sure if that’s an “okay” signal or a “We’ll talk about this later”.
Anyway, I think I’m okay, what the movies would do next was show the guy with flowers, or chocolate, or something, fix things, because he was wooing her.
I have a speech impediment but “wooing”, you understand that? Basically modern day stalking. The guy would stalk her, wear her down, break her will, Audrey Hepburn used to try to balk this trend in movies but it would happen, the woman would submit, give up her silly dreams, plan to make a nice kitchen, and they’d end the film with a wedding, bing-bong bing-bong, happy ending.
Can’t do that today. I say hello to someone, they tell me to rack off, and I go home to masturbate into a pillow. I can’t come back with a wrench. No. That would not be okay. I can’t stand underneath a window with a boom-box playing her favourite love song.
First of all, I don’t know how romantic Beyonce’s “if you like it you should have put a ring on it” is at one in the morning, played by some guy standing in shrub next to the clothes line. Mostly I know that the neighbours would call the cops. Or she would call the cops. Or a passer-by would call the cops. The cops would be called, I’d have to explain myself and saying “I’m wooing her” would not be good enough.
No. Times have changed. That’s all I’m saying. Times have changed.