"I just moved here from Florida."

That sentence contains at least five follow-up questions she WANTS you to ask. Where in Florida? What brought you here? How long have you been in the area? What do you miss? How does it compare to here?

She handed them to you on a silver platter. And you said, "Oh cool. I come here every week. I love this band. Ummm... pretty crowded tonight."

She smiled politely. Nodded. And never texted you back.

I was that guy for years. Talking too much. Listening too little. Panicking about my next sentence while she was literally feeding me the answers.

Then I found 22 rules that fixed the whole thing. Rule number one: shut up and listen. She'll tell you exactly what to say.

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Dont want to go to graduation

penkitten

Master Don Juan
Joined
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at our house
Yes, please.
There came a point in my parenting career that in order for my children to maintain good grades, keep up with a few minor household chores, and do extra curricular activities, that I made them sign contracts.
Laugh because it is a funny move, but smile because it worked.
They had to maintain those grades, take care of their hygiene and do the few chores or be forced to drop out. And dropping out meant they would have to reimburse me for the cost of that band instrument or sign up fees for ball plus whatever I shelled out of pocket for cletes and uniforms. But it included gas to every practice and game. It included payment for any volunteer ordeal I had to endure.

No grades slipped, we only saw improvement.

No one dropped out of anything. They learned not to quit anything mid-season when a team was counting on them because they gave their word to be there when they signed up.

And I have had the satisfaction of knowing my time was never wasted running from one ball field to another with a baby on my hip because all 3 of the older kids were on different fields at the same time. Each of them knew they were loved and each of them heard me cheer.
 

"The Coffee Shop Girl You Never Spoke To"

You've replayed it a hundred times. She stood three feet away, scrolling her phone. You had an opening. You composed the perfect line — after she was gone.

For all you know, she's married now. To some guy who said something. Anything.

Openers are cheap. Almost any sentence works when it's delivered within three seconds. The expensive part is the standing there, drafting and deleting, while the window quietly closes.

The "22 Rules" stripped out my hesitation. What to open with, how to keep it alive, and the one habit that costs guys more women than anything else: waiting for perfect.

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