We all see girls we gravitate to, be it at a bar, on Tinder, or in church (jk). Everything’s going great and you’re all, “oh, she’s totally cool and my friends will like her. Tonight, I’m going to take the next step and invite her to out with them.” Life is all good at this point. You’re waking up early thinking you’re the cat’s pajamas, you’re listening to the My Girl soundtrack, and you’re shaving on a regular basis. Then, shit hits the fan and she shows her true colors by way of a dealbreaker.
She wears fedoras. Nothing says “High Maintenance” like a motherfucking fedora. Unless you’re mid-2000s Britney Spears, Bear Bryant, or a Mad Men character, leave the fedora at home.
I mean, I just don’t get it. When preparing for a date, what girl sits around with her friends and says, “You know what would really round out this outfit… A FEDORA!” How the fuck do her friends approve this move? Are they crazy too? Do they think it will pair nicely with a choker necklace and a skort? Just dress like you’re trying to impress the Kennedys at a summer family reunion and we’ll be good.
She’s young. This summer, I adhered to the rule “Half Your Age Plus Seven” rule to try to justify hooking up with a younger girl. This was stupid. The age gap is just too disastrous. We were at a music festival and we saw someone dressed like a Star Wars Stormtrooper and she said, “Oh, that’s the character from Halo.” We were having drinks and I dropped a Seinfeld “puffy shirt” reference. She looked at me blankly like I was speaking Mandarin. I asked what shows she watched as a kid because I was a huge Pete and Pete fan. Her answer? Hannah fucking Montana. That shit debuted in 2006 when I was busy facing Natty Lights at college. “Half Your Age Plus Seven” works for a night, not a relationship.
Note: The sneaky benefit of hooking up with younger girl over summer? When she goes back to college, you get to spend the fall watching football in solitude.
She’s was a psychology major. Majoring in Psychology essentially says, “I want to spend the rest of my life getting into people’s heads and over-analyzing their shit” / “I want to be a real doctor but I’m not smart enough and blood is icky.”
She constantly reiterates, “Seriously, I love sports.” You love sports just as much as I love watching Real Housewives. You love sports like I love watching you mediate a fight between your two best friends. You only love sports because you think I want you to love sports, when in reality, I’d prefer if you were like the Fall Girlfriends who “get drunk while I watch football, think it’s so adorable when they wear jeans and Converse to the bar and get blackout in my team’s hat.” That’s the mentality to have. I’ve got a Lions game to watch–don’t you have a gala to go to or some Prosecco to drink?
She wears red lipstick. Red lipstick SCREAMS “I’m the type of girl who will call you 40 times in a row thinking you’re cheating on me even though you’re probably just sleeping with your phone on Do Not Disturb mode.” Hot Mess Express, population: the chick wearing the red lipstick. When I see a pretty girl in red lipstick, I feel like I’m going to wake up hungover as hell some morning and see her perched at the edge of my bed looking like this.
That is a scary thought.