Why do we like the meanies?

As girls, from an early age we’re constantly reminded that when a boy is mean to you it’s because he likes you. Now obviously it makes no sense at all, but also neither do men as a concept, so it’s not beyond the realms of believability.

And so I’m a believer of this. Sometimes I believe if a guy is all up in his feelings, he doesn’t really know how to control these, and so the following can occur:

He’s nervous and weird
He’s mean about your outfit or hair
He pushes you into a bush
He’s moody

We’ve talked about negging on here many times (that’s when they purposely say something shitty, buried within a compliment). The term ‘negging’ was born because of some book that I’m actually two thirds of the way thorough. I’m reading it so I can hopefully give it a poor review, but it angers me so much I have had to put it in the fridge and leave it for weeks at a time. However what I’m talking about today is not negging. The outright ‘being mean’ thing is different, because the average male is just mean. He’s not even bothering to hide it within compliments.

For instance, I once dated an electrician who we called EDF (never did find out his real name). He was trash, and every day my trash human vibrator (that’s all he was to me) would arrive and ring the doorbell and instantly he would be mean to me and moody. He would shoot down anything I said, like this:

LIG: “Oh it was hot today, I loved it!”

EDF: “No it wasn’t, you’re stupid.”

That kind of shit. Eventually after a month of this type of thing I said “WTF is your problem mate?” and he CRIED. He said he didn’t know why he was like this, and he told me he would be walking around to mine and have to say to himself: “Don’t be a dick this time…” And yet time and time again there we were. He had to go.

When I mentioned in the last blog how mean Mr Sunroof was to me, I purposely signed off without answering whether I would see him again because I’m not sure I’m ready to write him out of the storyline just yet. Of course we all know I will eventually kill him off and a new character will take his place. But I can’t promise it’s going to be any time soon. I’m just being honest, I can ignore his toxic bullshit and when the world has returned to normal I shall address it.

Alongside me wasting my time with that idiot, I also have another utter waste of time who is telling me he misses me, whilst also making no effort to see me. And even worse than that, I have another guy sending me flowers to my actual work and doing the MOST to get my attention, and he’s not even ugly either, he’s hot… But I don’t like him really.

Like you, I am drawn to the assholes. Why? Why is it we always like these mean pricks?

You’ve come this far and now you’re expecting me to have all the answers. But alas, I don’t.

It’s about “knowing your worth” and “finding your inner self”, whatever the fck any of that means. I’ve found my inner self and she’s an idiot too. I can only imagine it could be because of “daddy issues” or because one isn’t “ready to be serious” or because the nice one just isn’t the “one” and meanwhile the bad one is giving you good dick or is super rich so you’re just happy to continue. Makes sense to me, hence putting up with their shitty ways.

But nobody is ever horrid to someone they truly adore, which means they’re just not that into you, so we must make sure we reciprocate that feeling. If you find you are getting into them and they clearly hate you, do one thing: RUN!

I don’t think everything has to be therapised. For me I always think if it’s not hurting you or anyone else, who really cares? He doesn’t bother me, he just makes me write loads of blogs and slag him off in my diary.

No harm, no foul.

But at some point I’ll join the masses of women who have decided they’ve had their fun and decide to get with the stable but crashingly boring, dull but really quite safe, guy. Those guys are just waiting over there in the wings, ready to lead me into an adulthood plagued by choosing wallpaper, having children and purchasing a Morphy Richards Slow Cooker in which to make an 8-hour Lancashire Hotpot.