Today, I got asked out at a McDonald’s.
His name was Alfred and he was maybe 57. He smelled like cigarettes and he ordered the Fish filet.
I ordered a vanilla latte. Sugar-free. Non-fat. Iced. I got a straw.
I went to leave.
…And then he said, “What? No Starbucks? Girl, you’re way too cute to be getting coffee at McDonald’s.”
He followed this by asking if I wanted to get coffee at somewhere “a little nicer”. And that we should (and I quote), “get outta here.” Like we were in some kind of late-night dance club and I’d just been served my
third 23rd vodka and water and I would think leaving anywhere with this potentially homeless man was an excellent idea.
I smiled. I put my straw in my coffee. I sipped.
“What’s your name?”
“Alfred.” I said. “Can I give you some advice?”
” You can give me anything you want, baby”
“Ok. Thanks. So your approach… totally spot on. Way to jump right to the point. I like a man who knows what he wants.”
He moves closer to me. I take a step back.
Not so fast creep.
“…However, asking a 23-year-old girl out at a McDonald’s check-out line is seriously insulting. To any woman. Regardless of age. Really? Come on dude. If I may be frank, you have zero chance here. But I do appreciate the coffee offer. I wish you the best of luck in the future.”
He stared at me.
“..Oh and because I’m already speaking my mind? Cigarettes will kill you.”
Then, I turned around, walked out and went back to work.
I know a bunch of you are now thinking– Meg. You didn’t.
But I did guys.
And I will do it again.
Because I have decided that I think the world is lacking in some straightforwardness. I think we spend far too much time being overly, unnecessarily polite, saying half-truths and telling people they don’t look fat in things and oh… I didn’t see your call and letting each other down gently and surface level bouncing into one another but never wanting to offend so never really getting anywhere near the bottom line and so in short, we never actually say how we really feel.
And so, for once, today, I did what I’ve always wanted to do. I gave a truthful, straight-forward brutally honest explanation to a random bum at McDonald’s.
And you know what?
Maybe he’ll stop smoking because of it. Maybe he’ll change his life!
..Or maybe he asked out the next girl he saw in there. Who knows. The point is, I didn’t smile and giggle and run away. I told him how it was.
And on that note– My fellow females, we are typically TERRIBLE at this. We don’t want to offend so we kind of hint at things but never really come out and say it. We people please until we can’t breathe. We’re the smiling queens of grin and bear its and the ‘yes-I-can-do-all-that-and-make-you-a-sandwich-what-I-don’t-need-to-sleep-is-for-the-weak?’
But Guys? Yeah, not so much.
And that’s not even a bad thing. It’s a wonderful thing. It’s refreshing. Guys look in the mirror and think, I look good. And then they believe it.
And I would know. I live with them.
Living with men isn’t always so refreshing. Sometimes it smells.
It’s been 4 months since I moved in. During that time, I’ve been watching. Observing. Slinking around like a cat. And of course, taking copious notes to document as I go where very few females dare to go with men who aren’t their significant others or directly related in their blood line.
I’m talking about living with boys, girls.
I’m talking about sharing one bathroom with several males.
I’m talking about Monday night football, entire pizza boxes with ONLY ONE piece left inside, Kate Upton lovin’, what is that thing in the trash, no we can’t watch Friends with Benefits again Meg, Where’s the hammer I can fix that fully fledged 24-7 male bonding.
I’m talking about….
The top 10 things I’ve learned
since I moved in with Men
By Me.. (Meg)
10. There is about a 95% chance that there is some sort of bleeding animal in the fridge at all times.
So, shockingly, men love meat. Like they really freaking love meat. I can’t tell you how many times I have come home to find some slab of some kind of animal just chilling (literally) in my fridge. Like right next to my carrots. Like right next to MY CARROTS. I think men get off to the smell of bacon. Actually to the word bacon. Next time I want to impress a guy I’m just going to give him a piece of pig. Yeah. There’s more where that came from in my fridge babe.
9. Following that same percentage theme, there is also a 95% chance that you will come home to some form of death/violence on the television.
Yet another surprising thing about living with guys is that if someone is not being tackled on my television screen, then something is usually blowing up and occasionally someone is being shot and sometimes, the trifecta occurs and someone is being tackled as they are being shot as things blow up. It’s usually loud. Tragically, the actors aren’t guaranteed to be hot–though, there is a direct relation to the perceived male awesomeness of a movie and the amount of mustaches that the cast has. I can’t explain this. But I’ll keep doing research.
8. There is a listening learning curve and you get really good at talking pretty much for your own benefit.
Your roommates aren’t your boyfriend. They aren’t your husband. They have no emotional obligation / see no direct benefit from listening to your problems. It’s a sad, sad reality. So whereas, when you’re in a relationship with a guy, he may at least pretend to listen.. my roommates don’t necessarily always do the same thing. You could (and will) go on a long drawn-out emotional monologue about something that’s bothering you and then 5 minutes later all you’ll get out of them is “What? I’m sorry. Were you talking?”
Translation: Meg. Shut up. The TV is on/I am eating/ I am busy thinking about nothing/ You are interrupting.
…Got it. Roger that Charlie. I’ll just go talk to my pillow now. Sob.
7. You will live in constant fear of the potential of dying by falling into your own toilet.
It’s 3 am.
I wake up half-asleep and stumble to the bathroom. I have to pee so badly but I’m also desperately holding onto the dream that involved me, Adam Levine, and a spinning chair from the reality tv show, The Voice. Don’t ask.
Then, in the midst of my sleep-pissing haze, I have the surprising and disturbing experience of falling into my own toilet.
Does anyone know what this feels like?
Well, let’s just say Adam Levine is suddenly far, far from my mind and I am instantly very very awake and absolutely petrified of getting ecoli on my own ass. And I probably say the word “ew” at least 15 times in a row.
This situation has happened no less than 5 times since moving in.
Yes….you would think I’d learn by now. And I guess its wishful thinking that at some point, my roommates will get the message and help a girl out here. But boys.. if you are reading this.. do me a solid and put the seat down. Me and my Adam Levine fantasy dreams thank you in advance.
6. Increase of sports knowledge. Sort of.
Yeah, I have a fantasy football league.
I have also picked every player entirely based off of their head shots. I even looked through GQ to make sure they looked good in a suit. THAT’S CALLED RESEARCH. So yes, my players might suck. But you know they look good at being bad. And they look damn good in a tie and a pair of glasses. MMMM Yeah, I’m looking at you Cam Newton.
6. Everyone says living with men means living with less drama but that’s not necessarily true.
It’s kind of like a different kind of drama. Like watching Animal Planet. And you are a tree monkey watching two gorillas below you sizing each other up for who gets to shower first. And you have popcorn. And sometimes the gorillas move heavy objects. And you paint your nails. You are a pretty girl monkey.
Oh, and on that note. Your roommates will mercilessly monkey spam you in an effort to get you to agree to adopt your own marsupial for your backyard that you don’t have. Even after you tell them that monkeys are actually crazy and rip people’s faces off sometimes.
5.. You will begin to wonder if men really ever outgrown their need to draw phallic symbols everywhere. Also, the need to make EVERYTHING into a bodily function joke.
My roommates are 28.
Here’s your answer:
4. Along this same line–By default, your maturity level will also decline. Try not to fight it. It’s kind of inevitable.
2. You’ll pretty much be forced to ask them for fashion advice.
And so if you wonder why you start dressing like a slut??
…Maybe you should check your sources.
And the number one thing you’ll learn
from living with dudes?
You’re going to be constantly surprised.
In a good way!
Because sometimes you come home to things like this:
However-Not surprisingly– off the record–I’m still a total ‘yes’ girl. I exhaust myself in my aim to please. I just can’t say no. I spend my time trying to make others time around me a little happier and sometimes that comes at the risk of my own happiness.
And so recently, I’ve been adopting a male perspective to my life in more than just my new knowledge of protein supplements and beer labels. I’m being more honest. Not in a over the top push people away with my bluntness kind of way. But in a more helpful, constructive Bro-step-off-I-called-dibs-on-that-last-hot-wing kind of way.
For instance, when I informed Alfred that picking up girls at McDonald’s probably will never, ever work in his favor. And that cigarettes would end his life.
I’ve lived in a bunch of different housing type situations before. I’ve lived in a sorority house with 75 other girls. I’ve lived on someone’s couch. I’ve lived with my parents. I’ve lived with Europeans who didn’t have a microwave. I’ve lived in dorms and apartments and houses and what have you– but living with men?
Truthfully, there’s something unexpectedly exciting about never really knowing what to expect.
And so finally,,.
If I may be so honest??
I kind of like being one of the boys.