all wisdom arising from needless misery

You're a nice girl, there's nothing wrong with you, everybody (well at least your mom) tells you that you're pretty, yet you're always meeting men who just aren't that into you. Here's why:

My ex didn't have a job, but she had a young child and a closet full of elaborate outfits involving ensembles of short shorts, fishnets and extremely high-heeled shoes. We met in a writing class. When I asked her what she did, at first, she just told me that she worked for her mother. I was actually astonished with the attention she lavished on me, the woman made me out to be her hero from the moment we met.

Apparently, a person I'd known only in an online component of an earlier class had tipped her off that there was a single man in class who might meet her wants and needs. The first week of class involved the broadcast of a brief personal exposition, and I gave her something to be excited about, bright, liberal, vegetarian, socially active, physically active, gainfully employed, handsome, and most importantly, very, very naive. She arrived for the first time late at the beginning of the third week, and began following me to the cafeteria after class.

I did notice her. She told me that the moment she first saw me she had made up her mind that I was going to be her husband. I didn't tell her that the moment I first saw her, I resented the interruption.

She was pretty, at the time had adopted a sort of a French provincial woman's sort of a style, short shaggy hair and basic blue jeans every day. And when I finally noticed her after class one day and said an exhausted hello while preparing to return to work (professional development time), she told me that she'd tried to talk to me before, and that she thought I didn't like her. The fact that I hadn't noticed her calling after me must have enhanced her, something, maybe interest, maybe absent father longing. And it wasn't that I wasn't interested in her, it was just that it was sort of a shallow physical interest, or maybe an inability to understand how to be interested in someone who looked slightly pornographic and determined to get to know me. It was an unfamiliar experience. I was the handsome, but wholly socially incapable perpetual nerd, only just discovering for the first time, the moment in a beta male's life when he's the only man who'll put up with a profoundly psychologically damaged, yet beautiful single mother. I didn't know the first thing about how to begin skeptically reading between the lines.

I was going to be her husband, that was what she'd decided, and, apparently, pretty girls always get what they want. Or they'll kill you.

A year later, in response to an outsized 8 hour tantrum on my lawn inspired by one of her prescription drug binges that I'd only recently learned are very common, I had a thought, and canceled our engagement. She threatened me repeatedly, she told me I'd pay, she took a swipe at me with her car when I told her it was time to leave before I called the police. She told me nobody would believe me. I called the police. They believed me. She has quite a record.

He's not that into you because: there are more available women like this in the world than there are not. Odds are, no matter what you say or do, no matter how smartly, no matter how prettily, you're probably the scum of the earth.


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