Want a puppy? Sure…
My friend told me this story. Friends of mine haven’t yet learned that they can’t really tell me anything anymore without me turning it into a blog. Actually, some have; and those are the people who have stopped talking to me… Which I’m actually very happy about. So more fool them.
She met this guy. He was super into horses (not in a weird way like that odd girl from school who loved ponies), but in a cool way.
Like, he would gamble on them, get rich and dress up and get pissed watching them canter or whatever, reaching a bit of ribbon first and thus winning him thousands. He was that kind of horse enthusiast.
They’d been on two dates and she wasn’t really bothered. He was just “nice”. I can NOT stress enough the power of ignoring guys, she wasn’t actually playing a game, she just wasn’t that into him so she hardly replied and always cancelled plans to meet up again. But this sent him crazy, as it does all guys. Seriously nothing irks a man more than a damn good ignoring.
So the texts were coming in thick and fast from him, and my friend, who isn’t like me at all (which is why we are friends) acted very differently to how I would have. I’d have texted him and told him he was like having a bad case of thrush (an irritating cunt), but she was, as always, polite and courteous. Then she was given some bad news. Very sad news in fact, but this blog is for making you laugh so we will skip over that part.
He wanted to be there for her as she dealt with this news, and his idea of accomplishing that was to do the following… He texted her to say that a dog she once mentioned she thought was cute was winging its way to her.
Quite how a Weimaraner (yes, it’s a dog; Google it, I can’t do everything for you) came up in conversation in the first place is beyond me, but upon her telling him she thought they were cute, off he was going to the local Weimaraner shop to buy her one. GROSS.
She had to intervene at this point and go a bit LostItGirl on his poor ass to stop him from buying it. And that Weimaraner is still sat in the shop. The poor thing will never know how close it got to being bought, given, not wanted and dumped in the Thames or accidentally run over. I’m joking, of course, she’s nice and would have simply set it free in the woods.
Although that whole story is creepy, as she was telling it I couldn’t help thinking how my poor boyfriend who isn’t my boyfriend because he’s poor but is also very much my boyfriend has never bought me a thing.
Ok, well that’s a lie. Once after he’d serviced me he offered me a sip of his drink. Usually I don’t ever touch things that come in tins and I never ever have fizzy drinks unless it’s to aid a severe hangover, but after my full MoT I was quite parched so I took a sip.
San Pellegrino Aranciata Rossa. It’s basically oranges and blood oranges from Italy. These are the base of its delightful, intense fragrance. I Googled that for you, it’s their strap line… It is, frankly, shit. It should be:
“Fruit flavoured an that, comes from Italy so you know it’s chic, take 1-3 sips only. Great after a servicing. Decant rest into sink before recycling tin can.”
As it turns out, it’s really nice. You ever had that shit? It’s like summer in a tin. It’s a can of bliss. And so every time he’s turned up since, he’s bought me one that I’ve never drunk, so in the morning when it’s laid there untouched he always takes it home with him, and then always comes back with a new one because, as he says, “One day you’ll want it again.”
I know right? Cute. I mean it’s not puppy cute. But it’s super cute in his own poor way.
But what these two situations have made me think is that if you begin to subliminally mention things you like, perhaps some part of a man’s tiny brain actually registers it.
My friend is kicking herself now for mentioning a dog and not a Guccy Dionysus bag (yes, Gucci have changed how they spell their own name for a bit, a great idea which I’m thinking of doing for the summer). Have you seen those bags? They are kitsch af. I was super into Pac-Man when I was a kid so I love them. But she’s kicking herself for not mentioning something expensive made out of dog, and instead, an actual dog.
Obviously I don’t know enough about drinks in tins to mention ones regularly to my poor boyfriend in order to get more different varieties as gifts. Plus, I don’t fckin want a stupid tin drink; I want Guccy.
We should all start totally writing out a list of shit we want and just subtly mentioning it to our current bones and if you start to receive these gifts, then great!! If not, tell him “boy, bye.”
And, always mention good shit, for the love of God, mention the good shit!
Let me know how it goes?