The plates get cleared and the silence lands like a brick. You can feel her waiting. Your brain offers up your commute, your job, the weather — topics that have ended more second dates than bad breath.
Here's what most guys never learn: women hand out free conversational material all night long. Tiny clues about what they actually want to discuss. Catch them and you never run out of things to say — because she's telling you what to say next.
Rule 4 of the "22 Rules" trains your ear to catch every single one.
Go pound your bible somewhere else bro. That sh!t ain't flying here.
You've said it a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. And every time you say it, you train your brain to freeze the next time she walks into the room.
Leagues are a myth invented by guys who are scared of women.
She's a person. She has bad breath in the morning. She picks songs she can't sing in the shower. She overthinks her own texts.
Walk over. Say something. The league dissolves the second you open your mouth.
Lmao James Franco is freakin hilarious. Underrated actor.
Another sh1t dipper. Clearly buttholes are your thing, which begs the question: how come you prefer a-hole over vagina? Think about it for a moment... Gay men obviously fantasise about anuses; normal, straight guys fantasise about pvssy, breasts, etc. And don’t give me that crap that it’s tighter - you’re sticking your flesh in a tunnel of stinking sh1t, which isn’t designed for sex anyway, hence producing no natural lube other than sh1t.
Another homophobic bible toter. Preach about how God wants you to love everyone then hate anyone who is gay or lesbian. Or who doesn't share your narrow views of morality. Makes sense.
I'd say you're 333, just half evil.
Your buddy Dave has been single for three years and thinks "hey u up" is a valid strategy. Your other buddy Mike just got dumped and told you to "just be yourself."
You showed them her text. You asked them to decode the emoji. You drafted four responses and sent the screenshot to the group chat for a vote.
She's been waiting forty minutes.
Put the phone down. Stop crowdsourcing your love life. Type something that sounds like you. Hit send. Then go do literally anything else with your evening.