They Call Me The Gangster of Love
I'd like to think that I'm the kind of guy who would travel across town at a moments notice to kill spiders for girlfriends. Since to women spiders are impossibly large and sinister. They are poisonous. They are eight-legged and know karate and can jump across tall buildings. And I will burst into a room and squash these evil things and not ask for thanks. If I am feeling particularly merciful I would grab the spider and throw it out of the window and spare its life. Because I can be a forgiving God when the mood strikes.
Unfortunately this is not me. I'm not the guy who would travel 30 minutes to murder insects. If there is a vaguely interesting show on the TV I may not even walk across the room to get rid of these arachnids. I would turn up the volume and ignore the cries for help from any women in the room, no matter how hot they were.
Perhaps if this was my only crime I'd still be a hit with the ladies. Alas I do not listen to them. At all.
(Walking down the aisle in a supermarket with Kittie the other day. She is in a rush to be somewhere and is already angry at me for making her late.)
Me: (picking up a jar of olives) Yum. Olives (another mildly annoying trait. I point out the obvious)
Kittie: Ugh. You're buying olives?
Me: You don't like olives?
Kittie: You know I don't.
Me: (Did I?)...
Kittie: Remember the other day (about three weeks ago) when we ordered pizza and I specifically asked for no olives?
Me: (I didn't) Uh-huh.
There needs to be a drastic change in attitude and maybe hairstyles in the next few weeks. Valentine's Day (a.k.a. Sucks to be Single Day) is fast approaching and I think I owe it to myself to do something more constructive than to bitch about couples this year.
I have a firm handshake,