This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and
whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them
and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them
for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made.
Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely
interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and
beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that
girls play mind games, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask
you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly
compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart
girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you
were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal,
intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she
finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and
perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would
you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker
chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her
sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make
plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar
or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you
just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls
are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for
someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your
anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father;
you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a
connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom
you were using during it.
So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys,
when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover;
sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or
the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at
a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we
might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the
same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a tee-shirt
and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hung-over best
friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why?
Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes
those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for
a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things
we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and
loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys
finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores
and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish
line with water and towels and a congratulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice
girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against
hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end
of that silly race.
So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys
in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the
concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still
have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat
(because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)
By Jessica Leigh Griffith
