I believe I was born a few decades too late. I was raised to be Gary Cooper (the strong silent type) when all girls of my generation were brainwashed by crappy television and even worse movies to seek Leo D’Capiro (weak, effeminate pretty boys in touch with their “feelings”). That’s not to say that I have no feelings its just I was raised to share them only with those close to me. Never let ‘em see you sweat if you will. What happened to the man that would mind his business letting others go about theirs until crossed? Then it was time for him stand up for what he believed. A certain stigma has been assigned to the single in the 21st century because of the rise of coupledom.
There is a vast epidemic of coupledom breaking out in the United States. I don’t know if it’s been this way all along or maybe I am like one of the chosen taken from the Matrix to help save mankind. It seems everywhere I go I see a couple and it makes me sick. I can’t even go to Blockbuster to rent a movie to watch at home by myself without encountering an entire store full of couples publicly displaying their “affections.” These are the people that are invariably in line in front of you renting the newest lame romantic comedy making out while on line like no one else is there. Then when they finally get to the check out they forgot their wallet in the car or don’t have their rental card. And it makes me sick. Each time I see these people I invariably think, “You know, I could definitely kick that guys ass” but I don’t. I just give them the stink eye like a parent walking in on their 16-year-old daughter making out with a senior.
Coupledom does not always have to be where you might expect it. One might think that if you went to a sporting event the single male would enter into a world of his own, a place where men compete in the field of competitive sport. One man triumphing over another based on sheer God-given talent and will. Man in its most basic and primitive form seeking to better the other by strength and wit. Now in this age of mass commercialism and watered down reality sports have been made female friendly. There are loud announcers boisterously announcing every minute detail that even the most casual sports fan would recognize, dancers to keep fans “entertained” or stimulated, pleasant clips on the jumbotron to distract from the game and pass the time. Now there is even female friendly merchandise, cute little pink t-shirts and caps and nothing even resembling the teams’ original colors. All to create a female friendly environment in an environ where they DO NOT BELONG if they cannot accept it for what it is. These are the people you see on tv at home when you are watching the game trying to drown out the horrendous announcing sitting courtside or behind the dugout not even paying attention to the game. Hell there is even a kiss cam for crying out loud!
I have come to the realization that getting a girlfriend is no different from getting your first job. There’s a lot of getting dressed up and interviews but it’s all a waste of time because you don’t have any “experience.” How one is supposed to get this experience is beyond me. I understand that both parties want to see that the applicant has something to bring to the team but what’s on paper doesn’t define a man.
Now every time I turn on a television I see Dr. Phil or Dr. Neal Clark Warren on selling the merits of their online “match making services.” I don’t know where these men got their doctorates from but I am pretty sure they came from the “schools” that advertise right after them. The ones that say, “If she can do it so can you.” Now I am no “Doctor” but I would not want a degree from a school that advertises the fact that a single mother flew through classes and got a degree. My entire life has been spent learning that girls are not interested in me, why would I pay these men a king’s ransom to have them tell it to me as well. Imagine what a blow to the self-esteem that would be. I am still not good enough to even the most desperate (those who have stooped to online dating) and who put themselves online unashamedly like some sort of exhibitionist whoreing themselves out to the highest bidder.
I may not know what a French manicure is or where the salad fork is actually located but I do know what a dipstick is and I change my own oil. So what if I don’t wear jeans and filp-flops in cold weather and pop my collar or I do wear a t-shirt and jeans with cowboy boots. Some of my shirts have pearl snaps and my jeans are faded with wear not because I bought them that way but because I earned the fade. I listen to real country music, drive a pickup truck and respect women, most of all my mother. My free time is even spent reading books for fun, not Harry Potter or the Da Vinci Code but real books without cliff’s notes that require thought and a dictionary. Everywhere I go I hear people ask me when I am going to get married or find a nice girl. Maybe there are no more nice girls left. All the ones I encounter care more about their pointy shoes and fake tans than starting a family and raising it fearing God and loving America. Maybe the stigma should not be assigned to the single, but to the couples that stay together even though they have nothing in common and fight constantly but remain together out of convince.
