Somewhere in the 19th century, a New Zealander drove the final nail into the patriarchal hierarchy coffin and gave women the right to vote. This is now widely regarded as a very bad move, and women have since plotted to enslave us.
The problem with equality is in the semantics; while men assume that equality entails, well, a state of equal-ness, women smile and nod. To illustrate: if a random woman we’ll call Elli wanted to end up in bed tonight (and I reciprocated) I’d have to establish myself as a strong but caring alpha male, seamlessly afford the alcohol, mesh with her friends, respect her in front of my own, learn the tango, bake a cake and jump through a fiery hoop.
She’d have to show up.
Whatever her plans for that night were, they were not reciprocated. It was late, I was tired, and I had a long night of filming before I could indulge in two hours of sleep, and not miss my flight. In the animal kingdom, this apparently does not qualify as a refusal to mate. Neither does a ‘no’, an ‘I’m really busy tonight’ or a ‘doesn’t your boyfriend have anything to say about this?’
For every 20 seconds of good film I’d get a minute of her teasing the camera, for every still shot I’d manage, ten would emerge skewed because she accidentally had to brush up against me. And I could have been mistaken, but there was enough room on the platform for both of us to stand comfortably apart, and yet for some reason she was forced against me all night.
The boyfriend didn’t make things easier. He was one of those non-confrontational types, the kind that would rather buy you a drink (several, in fact) and befriend you, in hopes that you’d read the desperation in his eyes and back off of their dates. OK.
By 2am the concert had dwindled, along with my responsibilities, my tolerance and, sadly, my inhibitions. The combination of cigar smoke, Jack Daniels and one very attractive woman was too much for me to handle, and I succumbed. I was sure they’d have another flight over the weekend.
‘Fine, what do you plan on doing with your boyfriend?’
‘He’s just a friend, but what do you mean?’
‘I mean if we’re going home together, where does he fit in?’
The indignant look on her face would’ve made the Academy proud: ‘I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions, and I don’t like it when men do that. Can’t a girl be friendly without seeming promiscuous?’
Huh.
‘Elli you’ve spent the evening brushing up against me, the last two hours within two inches of my face and the last ten minutes explaining in detail what you think we ought to be doing now.’
‘It was a joke.’
‘Ah; good one. And how exactly did you expect me to react?’
‘You could’ve asked for my number…’
Right there! See that? That is what’s wrong with women. If I wanted a sandwich I’d ask for a sandwich, if I wanted a diet soda I’d ask for *gaspshockawe* a diet soda, but if a woman wanted my number she’d have to wear next to nothing, sweat on me all night, make out with my camera and describe what a hypothetical night of passion would feel like. Subtle, as far as signs go.
What’s the sign for sex again?
I'm Karl, and I'm an acquired taste.
I've been an editor for 4 years, a writer for 5 more, and a geek ever since I wrote Pong on my first Atari. I'm married to the perfect woman and we live in the desert. 
*counting how many times this has happened to me*
I think someone ought to put all girls in one large big ass room, and explain to them that “just being friendly” means a smile once a night, and providing a light for a cigarette in case needed. Their version of “just being friendly” is way out of context.
*mumbles*
@JK
I suspect they already know; they like testing our limits though: how much teasing can this man take before he pops like cheap champagne?
Ah who knows what they’re thinking merde.
C’mon, you know this ain’t true. You might have to jump whenever she says frog but she has to show up, yes show as in display, and she’d better be good at it. If she can’t brush up well enough, chances you answer favourably to whatever she asks for when she calls you on the number aforementionned approximate are approximate with the chance a rock you throw has of reaching escape velocity. In other words, if she doesn’t brush up, she’ll fall back, always accelerating till she smashes on the ground.
See it that way, it’s once again revolving around men, males, whatever but the central character isn’t the girl -and that’s for the best.
Champagne can’t be cheap. If it is cheap, it’s foamy wine.
@Agénor
One of these days all that pent up woman’s lib will make you pop. Unleash the alpha male within! And send me your details for an account
Loved it – although I’m a girl myself (and usually proud of it!). Girls like the one you describe are the ones who ruin it for the rest of us, and give all of us a bad rep. I also stand for equality, but equality and sameness are not the same. I want a man to treat me as an equal, but I also appreciate having the door opened for me or help with a heavy box. Doesn’t make me inferior.
In general, though, I have to say, if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and looks like a duck, well, it’s a …. you know the rest! I can’t stand when people, men and women alike, talk the talk, but when it comes down to it, can’t walk the walk! Posers!
@Inna
Nah, your reputation is safe. I enjoy wallowing in chauvinism but am aware that there are normal, straightforward, well-adjusted women in the world. The fact that I haven’t met any doesn’t count
Glad to have you here.
Karl!!!! I am a normal, straightforward, well-adjusted woman…have you forgotten all about me?
I wanna read more and more and more!!!! 
Karl is goooooood! hehehe
Anyway, I loved this. I was picturing you telling us all that while hanging out at your balcony and night
Hmmm…how do u delete a comment here? :S
@Geevy
Yeah yeah. Deleted. Quit yer whining.
And you Jeevus are far from normal. Thanks though
Jeevus is dead! Long live Geevy!