Men – galloblog

Girlfriend of 18 months “honored” that she finally shares equal status with boyfriend’s dog

-ATLANTA

Sydney Glascow and boyfriend Allen Platano recently celebrated their 18 month anniversary. Sydney knew the celebration was going to be special, but she never would have let herself hope for what unfolded. At a dazzling dinner in the city, Allen cleared his throat shared something so deep and special that tears sprang to Sydney’s eyes.

“Babe, you know I’m not a sappy man but I have to tell you – I think.. I’m beginning to care about you as much as I care about Buddy.”

Sydney could barely believe her ears. She knew what a special connection they shared, and her heart nearly exploded to think that her connection with Allen was equally as special.

“Does this mean I can sit with both of you on the sofa now?” She asked breathily. Allen paused. “I never thought about the implications but.. maybe. Wait, hold on…” he mused for a tormenting 15 seconds. “Yes!”

Sydney sprang up from her seat and began to dance energetically, just like Allen liked. “Dreams really do come true!”

Are women untouchable goddesses or helpless victims?

Women, can we come to a consensus about how we’re choosing to brand ourselves? Even as a woman, I’m confused about how women want me to see women. Are we untouchable goddesses, or helpless victims?

On one hand, we have an uber feminist narrative that makes loud and brash claims about female superiority and independence. We have songs like Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy” saying

I’m that bad type
Make your mama sad type
Make your girlfriend mad tight
Might seduce your dad type
I’m the bad guy, duh

You said she’s scared of me?
I mean, I don’t see what she sees
But maybe it’s ’cause I’m wearing your cologne

Apparently hearing about an underage girl (she was 17 when she wrote about seducing dads.. eeks!) being a sadistic ho-ho to men and women alike makes Cosmo girls feel totes empowered.

Then there’s Lizzo, also a rising star in female empowerment, who says

Yeah, I got boy problems, that’s the human in me | Bling bling, then I solve ’em, that’s the goddess in me

Well now I feel foolish. This whole time I thought solving one’s relationship problems was just a normal part of being a grown up. Then Cardi B has an entire shtick around being as crass and arrogant as male rappers

I need to let all these hoes know | That none of they niggas is safe

So as a woman, I’m supposed to be empowered by hearing a very rich, famous, beautiful woman brag about stealing my man? Or am I supposed to internalize the arrogance and steal the men of women less beautiful than me? Hmmm. I hope my nieces model their lives after this one! Moving on from the music industry, there are several new female action heroes (e.g. Captain Marvel, Wonder Woman, the female 007, etc.) being praised for showing that women are kick-booty (literally)! According to this narrative, women are rough, tough, powerful, and just completely superior in every way to the buffooned males we occasionally allow to pleasure us.

On the other hand, we have another manifestation of feminism that wants women to be a protected class. In ironic contrast to the paragraph above, apparently it is sexist to ask women to meet the same physical requirements as men to enter the military. So women can do everything that men can do! … but with a large caveat – *if* you lower the bar for what men can do. There is also a strain of the #metoo movement * that is telling us even imbalanced power dynamics between a man and woman completely vindicate her of any responsibility in a sexual relationship. If a woman is approached by her boss or some other male in power, she is suddenly rendered completely defenseless and actually compelled to be subservient to his every desire. An adult woman suddenly has the mental, emotional, and moral reasoning of an 8 year old. So now women are delicate fleurs that wilt in submission before any man who has a smidge of power. Thus, they need to be protected like children.

… What?????

Women need to stop making idiotic, obviously-false claims of goddessery, but women also need to stop telling other women how powerless they are. The former makes women sound like delusional psychopaths, and the latter is derogatory and disempowering to members of our own sex. It’s not victim-blaming to point out that women are responsible agents in their own life – it’s offering hope to a younger generation entering the workforce.

Women don’t need to paint our entire sex in one broad brush stroke so that we can push what we want to be true about ourselves at a given moment in time. Want to feel better after you get dumped? You’re a goddess. Want to feel like you didn’t have any choice but to allow your creeper boss to feel you up? Now you’re a victim.

We don’t need to squash mankind with a wave of female superiority, but we don’t need to hide** from them either. We don’t need to take on the worst attributes traditionally attributed to men (lack of empathy, exploitation, etc.), and we definitely don’t need to take on the worst attributes traditionally attributed to women enslaved in the sex industry (powerlessness, dependence).

Let’s be kind. Let’s be mature and responsible. Let’s protect other women when we can, but let’s also give younger women a reason to hope for better. Let’s respect the majority of men who are not predators, and stand up to predatory men. Let’s examine whether we are intimidated or offended by men’s success and accomplishments. (If you are, that’s an ego problem of your own that needs working on.) Let’s celebrate and cheer-on men and women.

Some women are incredibly strong, but none of us are goddesses. Some women are incredibly vulnerable, but that doesn’t make all women victims. Whether or not a woman is strong or vulnerable is not simply an inevitable virtue of being a woman. Women are individuals who happen to be women. That’s it.

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*I’m not anti-#metoo in general, but I find this particular idea that the #metoo movement has propagated particularly problematic. You know what was a good sentence because I used 3 “P” words in a row – BOOM!

**The first time I wrote this, I accidentally wrote “we don’t need to hike from [men] either.” TRY TO CATCH US NOW MEN, WE’RE UP ON AN EFFIN MOUNTAIN! Lolz.

This article was expertly edited by the infamous Dania Vititoe, a contributing writer to Galloblog and sister of C Gallo.

Doing this one thing will help you snag a man

My recent success with tricking a man into dating me for longer than three weeks has created a ripple of excitement in my social groups. Everyone keeps asking how we met. Some are just trying to make conversation, but others are on a quest for information. Information that will help give them clues about how they should go about entrapping a man.*

black-widow-spider-2042047_1280 — Come to me my prettyyyyy

Never one to be restrained by the shackles of humility, I am assuming the responsibility to guide my single sistren towards the men of their dreams. Initially I was planning to put together a master list of all the sly techniques I used to rope in my boo,** but instead I think I will start with just one powerful tool.

She who intends to snag a man must first know a man. -C Gallo

That’s right. Men must be aware of your existence in order for them to succumb to your advances. The more men you know, the more likely you are to meet someone whom you actually like and who actually likes you.

Now, let us explore why you might not know any men. Off the top of my head, let us consider that 1) you are not involved in any activities, hobbies, or groups in which you would ever meet a man, and 2) Well.. no, I think point #1 pretty much covers it.

“C Gallo! Whatever doth thou mean?” Thou might be exclaiming. Well, I have noticed a theme among many women who are unhappily free of betrothment: their daily lives almost seem specifically designed to never intersect with a red-blooded*** male except by pure serendipity.

Si, my lovely senoritas. Working in human resources, getting your nails done, attending jewelry-making parties, and joining the local garden club is probably not going to open you up to many naturalistic opportunities to meet men. Sure, you may meet a few. Of those few, it is technically possible that a few of those will be straight. Of those, a few may be single AND remotely attractive. Technically. But then you’re left with 0.32 males, which not only puts you in a desperate position but is also mathematically awkward. So how to expand the mildewy pond of lackluster Jo-Jos into a sparkling pool of eligible baches?

I recommend the following: Engage in anything that men would have fun doing and involves interaction. Try swapping your night digging through a local boutique for a shooting session at the range. Instead of doing yoga, do kung-fu. Instead of planning ladies-only events, host a game night and invite boys. Join a coed kickball team. Go rock climbing. You get the idea!

A few caveats I must include –

I can’t guarantee you will find oodles of men who want to date you immediately. You are likely to meet many menfolk who should be pals-only. That is not bad. Enjoy them! Guy friends are the best! Plus, knowing 10 men instead of 1 man (who is your best friend’s hubby) will increase your odds by 1000%.
I understand you may be participating in a crochet convention because that is your natural interest. Moreover, maybe shooting guns offends your sensibilities, and you genuinely dislike doing anything more physically challenging than lifting your phone above your head for that perfect selfie angle. I’m not telling anyone to change their personality. But I would strongly urge you to not immediately rule out all activities that tend to be male-dominated purely because they are a little outside of your comfort zone or you fear you would be the only woman there. If you are … good! Less competition, less women to kill!
I beg of you! Don’t only engage in an activity in order to meet men. You will come across thirsty. Do something that even if you haven’t met anyone eligible within 6 months, will give you a new skill or experience that sparks joy in your ticker. Best life, people, best life!

I have most definitely rocked your ballet socks right off. You can thank me later. For now, go forth and carpe hominis!

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

* you don’t have to be *so* amused by this! Hurtful!

**I don’t feel comfortable sharing my black magic in this public forum.

***I’m absolutely certain this will rub someone the wrong way, but Ima say it. I’m talking about men who are unabashedly men. Men who can change a tire, squash a bug without crying, and will never steal your scarf to jazz up their outfit. You get the idea. If you don’t want a red blooded male, by all means stay the course!

Grieve androgynously

~If you are offended by gross generalizations of sex differences, then this post will be a burr in your buttocks.~

I will make this little advisement on grief.. brief! Teehee

En generale, I’ve noticed that when womenfolk are upset about something, they 1) surround themselves with social support, 2) talk about it incessantly, and 3) indulge in passive sedentarism (e.g. skip the gym for Netflix and chocolate).

On the flippity side, I’ve noticed that when menfolk are upset about something, they 1) isolate themselves, 2) refuse to talk about it, and 3) throw themselves into some fairly mindless but physically intense activity (e.g. go beast mode at the gym for 3 hrs).

It is my expert opinion that the best of both worlds would be to combo womenfolk grieving tendencies #1 with menfolk grieving tendency #3 (and find a nice balance between women and menfolk grieving tendency #2). Men honestly scare me sometimes with their inability / refusal to acknowledge their hurts and work them out with people who love and affirm them in healthy ways,* and I think they would do themselves a solid to at least have a few buds that they can be honest with and express how much they are hurting. But, I think women could take a cue from men to pause the 4 hr pity-party coffee dates with their gal pals and learn to channel their intense feelings into ferocious glute clenches! Moving around can make us feel better, but even if it doesn’t – might as well be sad with an excellent tush than sad with a saggy tush, amiright?** And when the sad feelings fade, you will feel better AND be a sleek tigress.

sport-927760 — Even better: work out with a friend!!!!

Alright, great! Here’s to healthy grief!

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*It’s not healthy to only talk to people who will tell you that everything you do is perfect and anyone who ever disagreed with you is mentally defective / evil. But at the end of the day, you want to talk to someone who wants to see you flourish like a dazzling daffodil!

**I am.

Here are some great articles that talk about healthy ways to get up and over romantic relationships specifically —

eHarmony – 12 basic tips for getting over the ex

Boundless – 5 Tipes for healing from a break up

Lady may I?

In light of the recent sexual assault accusations against… basically every male in Hollywood … I wanted to say somethin’ very quickly to the (hopefully) majority of men who are not sexual predators and never want to be.

How ’bout you fellers start asking -and pausing an appropriate amount of time – before touching any extra-familial lady in any way that is more intimate than say… a handshake.

Even with something as low-key as a kiss, a simple, sweet, and respectful gesture is to ask first before you just go for it.

If you’re afraid that asking will make you seem timid or weak, or the whole experience will be less sexy or something, I beg to differ. The few times that guys have asked me for a smooch, it was yowza yowz.*

does-somebody-need-a-hug-quote-1 — So hot 🔥🔥🔥

I bring up this suggestion because I am honestly scared for my heterosexual laddies who have been relying on the tried-and-untrue “read-her-signals” method to figure out when and what to do in a romantical situation. In the current dating climate, relying on your subjective interpretation of a woman’s — who you probably barely know, I may add — “signals” isn’t just unwise or ungentlemanly— it’s downright assinine.

Anyway, I promised brevity and brev I shall be.

If you read any of this read this: I humbly ask you to humbly ask. You have everything to gain and practically nothing to lose… except a future sexual misconduct allegation. And in the meantime, you might make a few ladies feel valued and respected. Give it a try today!

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*Of course there was one time when I said no, but it wasn’t as awkward as you might imagine.. and actually it ended up being much less awkward than it would have been if he had just gone for it. So you ask, and worst case scenario she says no and your ego wimpers a bit vs. you don’t ask, and worst case scenario you think everything’s great, then find out later that she told your entire social circle that you pressured her and made her feel icky.

The disturbing truth about Galloblog’s readers

MOST OF THEM ARE MALE CHAUVINIST WEIRDOS!

.. This excludes my fb fam, of course … !

So I wrote this post a while back that was fairly straight-forward – I simply took a classic example of an article written for women that teemed with sickening fawning over the female sex and derision toward the male sex. Then, I changed the pronouns so that my lady readers would “woke” and realize that the way we talk about ourselves – especially in relation to men – is often very offensive.

Anyway – it’s one of my only posts that could be considered an “evergreen.” That is – I actually still consistently get daily hits from rando interwebbers on this blog post, even though it died a quick death in fb world.

Today I was looking over the search terms that people use to find my blog, and the overwhelming majority of them are “unknown search terms.”

galloblog_searchterms_pie — I usually make up my own data and facts for this blog, but this is for real. Hot of the press! Pie chart made in excel LIKE A BOSS!

But of that small minority of search terms that were actually registered, I was alarmed to find out that almost everyone coming to my page is a creepy male supremacist!

galloblog_table3 — Also real search terms, I promise. Also note these quantities represent 10,000 😉 Also note I praise-handed the terms that I actually want to lead people to my blog 😀

Y’all… I don’t know what to do. My only kinda-long-term-successful post is driving traffic to Galloblog from…. the Milo Yiannapoulos fan club?!?

If you are reading this because you want to woman-hate, move it along. Also, I’m not patheric, YOU ARE! Lolzzzz

Alarmedly yours,

Galloswag

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

I’m sorry if you were expecting an actual point or conclusion to this. This was about as “about nothing” as I’ve ever posted. But holy moly! What hath Galloswag wrought?

Reflections on one of (the?) best date(s) ever

I wrote this post a while ago and chickened out before I posted it. Now that I have some distance from it, I realized it is still pure gold. Also, I needed to re-read it *laughs nervously*

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I went on a date last night. I realize it’s a terrible idea to tell the entire interwebs about it, but I have so many thoughts and feels about it, I truly don’t care.

To begin – the date activities were downright classy. In the current “ambiguous hangout” culture, it’s refreshing to be treated like an adult woman with value. Actually, the whole experience made me realize how long it’s been since I’ve felt truly valued and – excuse me for getting vuln here – almost made me want to cry. He picked me up. He used the D word beforehand – but also made it clear he wasn’t necessarily expecting this to be the start of a long relationship – so I wasn’t confused about what he was thinking. He told me how fancy-pants he was going to be, so I didn’t have to worry about embarrassing myself by dressing too down or too up. It may seem small, but it’s really considerate to eliminate so much random stress and angst with clear communication.

Then the date itself – I don’t think I’m off base to say he was excited to be out with me and thought I looked attractive. I felt attractive. He was flirty and affectionate without assuming a false romanticism (one of my pet peeves). He asked me about myself and seemed genuinely interested in my answers. He wasn’t intimidated by my PhD and research, but he didn’t fetishize it, either (if anyone ever says “talk nerdy to me,” that’s my cue to split and Uber myself back to the hizzle). He was obviously very smart and had a good career going, but he wasn’t arrogant about it.

Beyond that – we just had a connection. I know that’s cliché, but it’s true. He’s one of the very few people I could imagine having a deep convo with but still be able to laugh uproariously about something ridiculous. So many men I meet 1) immediately launch into convincing me we’re perfect for each other and should formalize our relationship as soon as possible, 2) seem like they’re trying to figure out how well I fit into their life, worldview, social scene, etc. but aren’t interested in my life, worldview, social scene, or 3) they treat me like their bro who they’re kinda sorta attracted to. But he didn’t try to point out everything we had in common, or ask probing questions to determine if I would put up with his video game all nighters, and we didn’t meet up at Chipotle. He treated me like.. a(n attractive) person … who he was getting to know. Cray!

You may be thinking, “Congrats! What’s the prob?” Well, to my great chagrin, we have deeply incompatible worldviews. One part of me wants to push that to the side and take it day by day. But y’all, this is where I need to put my money where my mouth is, so to speak. I either have faith or I don’t. As much as my poor little heart is a little ache-y right now, my brain and my heart both remember how miserable it is to date someone who (directly or indirectly) discourages my faith. So I can’t. Or more accurately, I won’t. As the sassy Jane Eyre said –

“I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad—as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth—so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot.”

woman-2842670 — I doubt Jane Eyre would approve of this shoe choice, but PLANT THOU FOOTSIES! (pixabay image, not an actual gallofoot)

This is probably frustrating to read. If this was a movie I’d be super pissed that this was the ending. “Why even tell us this?!” Because, with all my snarky criticisms and womansplaining related to dating and men, I wanted to spend at least one post not being glib or sarcastic or bossy, but just real.

I also want the world to know that the type of date I described above is **not** out of fashion.

Single Brochachos I strongly encourage you: if you don’t get excited about being out with a woman, or if you don’t find yourself wanting to create a date that makes her feel valued, then do yourself both a favor and release her to find someone who does.

Single Sischachas I strongly encourage you: if your man doesn’t consistently make you feel valued, honored, and special… move it along.

Final point- it’s okay to appreciate something for what it was, even if it didn’t have the perfect rom-com ending. I loved that date, and I’m so thankful for it.

I’m also thankful to all of you for enduring this embarrassing amount of over-sharing. Promise I’ll go back to being glib and sarcastic very soon. ❤

************************************************************************************

PLEASE NOTE: I wrote a post a while back with some similar elements, and it really ruffled some feathers. Not trying to stir the pot, just sharing my thoughts/feels.. that’s what blogging is for, yo. If you are seriously offended plz message me about it. *smooch*

I’ll be pretty when I’m dead

When I was a wee sprout, I read this story about two princes who were both given fancy-shmancy jackets by the King (their Pops). Their one charge was to take care of the jackets. The two princes then encounter various catastrophes throughout their day. They both see a man with his wagon stuck in the mud. One prince says, “sorry Charlie, getting you out of that mud would mess up my fly jacket.” But the other prince rolls up his sleeves and helps the stranded guy, and his jacket is flecked with mud. Later, there is a fire in the village. One prince says, “Not my prob,” but the other runs in a burning house and rescues people, and his jacket is burnt with holes. And more things like this happen, and one prince keeps his jacket clean while the other one almost completely destroys his. At the end of the day, the King is outraged that the one prince has really effed up his jacket, but then the townspeople come forward and explain all that he did to help them. The king learns that the jacket was destroyed not through carelessness or disrespect, but through care and respect for others. Then the king publicly honors the ruin’t jacket prince and shames the immaculate-jacket prince for his selfishness.*

prince-2974392_1280 — I always imagined that the princes were a tad older than this, but one must work with free stock images available to us 😀

The moral of the story, I think, was about value. Yes, the jackets were snazzy and deserved to be cared for. But one prince (rightly) saw that living a life worth living necessitated messing up his jacket.

This is a very long intro to something I’ve been thinking about lately, especially in my grisly old age.

TRYING TO BE BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU’RE AN AGING WOMAN IS THE WORST.

Think about it – what’s valued in women, beauty wise? Wrinkle free and soft skin is sexy. Having no extra body fat anywhere (EXCEPT in the “right” places, of course) is sexy. Pretty nails are at least.. appreciated, even if they aren’t sexy per se. Grey hair is not really acceptable, much less valued, until you are at least 65. Etc. etc .etc.

What’s valued in men? Wrinkles are fine. Rough hands are sexy. Muscles are sexy. Pretty nails are *not* sexy, imo. Grey foxes are sexy. Etc. etc etc.

I’m not just trying to say “beauty standards for women are unfair!” Plenty o’ people have already said that. My point is that the more men live their lives and DO STUFF, the more sexy they become. But for women, the more we live active lives, the less sexy we become.

To achieve the perfect beauty regimen, women should do nothing but lounge around in a spa. They shouldn’t do anything with their hands so they’ll stay soft and our nails won’t get janky. We shouldn’t go outside in any weather that’s too cold, or our skin will dry out. Too windy, we’ll get wind-chapped. Too sunny, and we’ll get wrinkles. And to maintain our 900 calories/day to keep up our prepubescent figures, we should be practically comatose. Oh, and we probably shouldn’t do any real work so we don’t accidentally get real functional muscles.

Pffftttttt.

I would like to propose to women everywhere that we think about our looks like the prince did his jacket. Should we abuse it just to abuse it? No. There’s no honor in binge drinking or refusing to exercise. But… am I going to refuse to go hiking on a sunny day or do science lab work (it’s very rough on the hands, tbh) or do anything remotely stressful so that I can make sure my skin doesn’t wrinkle, my hands don’t get rough and calloused, and my hair doesn’t gray?

“Fooie patooie” – C Galloswag

Naw. Let’s live our lives, ladies, and let the hands roughen, the wrinkles deepen, and the hairs grey. So what if the sleeping beauties are more beautiful than us? The Prince Charmings can have ’em. I’ll be fighting communism with Prince Janky-Jacket 😉

Sleeping-Beauty-Diet — How to be beautiful: lay around and do nothing, ever.

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*I read this story over 20 years ago, so I’m basically making up all the details. But this was essentially what happened 😀

The kind of man it feels good to be around

This is a simple idea, so I apologize if your mind isn’t blown to the same degree that it usually is after reading a Galloblog – but hopefully your mind is at least poofed.

Lately I’ve been falling asleep to one of my favoritest songs in the whole world – Ashley McBryde’s daddy love song, Bible and a .44. (It sounds like a crazed redneck song, but it’s actually heart-achingly sweet.) Anyway, one line of that song that jumps out to me every time I hear it is “[he’s] the kind of man it feels good to be around.”

(These sort of simple, beautiful, strangely profound lyrics are why I love country music, despite recent assaults on its dignity by Florida Georgia Line, Luke Bryan, Jason Aldean, etc.)

One reason why those lyrics strike me is that I immediately think of the men in my fam – my Dad, my Grandpa, my Grandaddy, brother, uncles, cousins.. They really do feel good to be around, and it hurts my heart sometimes just to think about it.

gramps — My grandpa. That grin! If it doesn’t make you feel good, I can’t help you.

What is this secret element that brings on these good feels? I think it’s kindness. A genuine interest in others and commitment to their well-being.. and a complete lack of self-interest. The Gallomen are confident, so they don’t need to prove themselves by obnoxiously competing with other men or by bringing down women, either overtly or covertly. ❤

But another more somber reason those lyrics strike me is how many men they *don’t* apply to.

(This isn’t a man-basher post, but just a “Ima be real” with a dash of emo.)

I have a lot of guy friends that are fun to pal around with. They can be funny. They can be charming. They can be interesting. But at the end of the day, hardly any of them – romantic or platonic alike – actually make me feel good. And some of them – after hanging out with them – I just feel… bad.

Is that their fault? Is the problem me? Who knows, and who cares. They just do.

My birthday is around the corner, which always intensifies my pensiveness and reflectivity sooooo… the action item I’m going to take away from this beautifically simple ideer is also beautifically simple: I’m going stop friending (and especially dating, amiright?) men* whom — whether or not they’re brilliant, hilarious, devastatingly handsome, Captain of the Tim Keller fan club, etc. — it feels bad to be around.** And if I may get a little dramatic … if I can’t find men who feel good to be around, better to be alone and/or surround myself with sisters from other misters and/or houseplants.

.. Oh, and I encourage you all – especially those tender young blossoms of womenfolk – to do the same *smooch*

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*Yes, yes, women too. But the song lyric is about men, so.. just go with it.

**I’m not saying to shun people who you don’t jive with perfectly. I’m referring to people who consistently bring ickiness into your life. You don’t have to hate them, but you definitely don’t have to subject yourself to the bad feels, either.

Unsung Heroes: A Tribute to Honest Abe

I thought about going on a basic rant against flakey folks, but let’s go Mr. Rogers on this joint. I would like to write a tribute to one of my friends who I will refer to as Honest Abe. Not bc his name starts with an ‘A’, but bc he’s honest. And it’s essential that I use cutesy names.

Is Honest Abe perfect? Heck no, Milo. He can err on the side of noncommitalism, and he can ping the ol’ Gallofeels when he rejects my super coveted, elite social invitations. But you know what? When this brochacho says he’s going to be somewhere, he’s there. And almost always on time. I actually trust in his word.

If you don’t see why this is praiseworthy, or even fantastically shocking, you obvs haven’t spent any time with male-lennials. They may be emotionally in-tune or heart-rendingly sensitive, but they are [mostly] complete man-children when it comes to the most SIMPLE of promises. When I can’t even trust a bro to be in a given location at a given time, why would I trust him with .. anything? Not my taxes, not my dog… def not my precious jewel of a heart.*

Oops, here I go being a negative Nance again..The point is—- Abe, thank you for not being a flake. Thank you for being so brutally honest that you can turn people down to their face. Thank you for being trustworthy. Thank you for shining like a bright diamond in a world of dull-dirt-rocks of Dishonest Daves.**

I salute you, Honest Abe.

— EDITORIAL NOTES —

*Mama sez my heart has jewelific qualities.

**No offense to Daves and Davids. It rhymed with Abe and was an alliteration. I couldn’t resist.

Link to the Book of Faces