"How I Made Sure No Woman Ever Friend-Zoned Me Again"

She calls you when her car breaks down. When she needs help moving. When some guy she's actually dating treats her badly.

You're the listener. The reliable one. The guy who would treat her so much better, if she'd just open her eyes.

She won't. You trained her to see you as the low-effort option — the friend who requires zero risk and zero investment. Every favor dug the hole deeper.

The "22 Rules" break the pattern. You'll stop auditioning for a role she already cast and become the man she chases instead. It starts with Rule 1.

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Single mommy by choice complains that folks don't want to help her

MatureDJ

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As I haul multiple shopping bags from my boot, while my toddler skitters between parked cars, my neighbour nods hello from his back porch, while ashing his cigarette.

Each week – despite knowing that I am a solo mother by choice with a donor-conceived son and no partner at home – my neighbour watches me teeter inside, a leaning tower of motherhood with hefty bags and a yelling child attached to my shins. I smile brightly and say hello, but my mind is a static of expletives: why doesn’t he offer to f------ help?!
my opinion: You want a man to help? Give him access to the Golden Vajaya, preferrably when you want to get pregnant. :rolleyes:
 

"How I Made Sure No Woman Ever Friend-Zoned Me Again"

She calls you when her car breaks down. When she needs help moving. When some guy she's actually dating treats her badly.

You're the listener. The reliable one. The guy who would treat her so much better, if she'd just open her eyes.

She won't. You trained her to see you as the low-effort option — the friend who requires zero risk and zero investment. Every favor dug the hole deeper.

The "22 Rules" break the pattern. You'll stop auditioning for a role she already cast and become the man she chases instead. It starts with Rule 1.

Read more...

Fortune_favors_the_bold

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Bokanovsky

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As I haul multiple shopping bags from my boot, while my toddler skitters between parked cars, my neighbour nods hello from his back porch, while ashing his cigarette.

Each week – despite knowing that I am a solo mother by choice with a donor-conceived son and no partner at home – my neighbour watches me teeter inside, a leaning tower of motherhood with hefty bags and a yelling child attached to my shins. I smile brightly and say hello, but my mind is a static of expletives: why doesn’t he offer to f------ help?!
The level of entitlement is through the roof but that's modern wymynz for ya. They think that other people exist solely for their convenience. It hasn't even occurred to her that the guy would rather enjoy a cigarette on his back porch than deal with her groceries and screaming "donor-conceived" child. If you want him to offer help, maybe try doing something neighbourly yourself first, like bake him a cake or offer to come clean his house. I bet that would work better than writing an indignant article on the internet.

If this were a town square, a hundred years ago, my neighbour would no doubt get off his arse and help carry my bags or watch my child while I do the return trip to get the second load. But parenting and all its attendant domestic minutia has become increasingly atomised.
If this was a town square a hundred years ago, she would be mercilessly shamed for having a child out of wedlock. Go back another couple of hundred years and she would have been tarred and feathered or maybe even stoned to death. So yeah, maybe don't pine for the "good old days".
 

f(x)

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If he did offer to help with the groceries, she’d probably complain about him smoking in the house.
 

"She Laughed All Night. Then She Ghosted You. Here's Why."

Dinner ran three hours. She laughed at everything. You walked her to her car thinking this one's locked in.

Then: nothing. Two texts. No reply. What happened?

You did what most men do on a great date. You filled every silence, answered every question, and left her with nothing to wonder about. No mystery. Nothing to sit with when she got home.

Rule 3 of the "22 Rules" changes the ending: tell her a little, hold back the rest, and let her imagination do the chasing. The ghosting stops too.

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patb

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The level of entitlement is through the roof but that's modern wymynz for ya. They think that other people exist solely for their convenience. It hasn't even occurred to her that the guy would rather enjoy a cigarette on his back porch than deal with her groceries and screaming "donor-conceived" child. If you want him to offer help, maybe try doing something neighbourly yourself first, like bake him a cake or offer to come clean his house. I bet that would work better than writing an indignant article on the internet.


If this was a town square a hundred years ago, she would be mercilessly shamed for having a child out of wedlock. Go back another couple of hundred years and she would have been tarred and feathered or maybe even stoned to death. So yeah, maybe don't pine for the "good old days".
They sound pretty good to me...
 
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