A Lady’s Guide to Casual Rejection

“Is that a mirror in your pocket? Cause I can see myself in your pants.”

“I lost my phone number… can I have yours?”

“Hey, does this rag smell like chloroform to you?”

Who among us hasn’t heard these and other ridiculous ice-breakers while simply trying to enjoy a night out with some girlfriends and a purseful of bath salts? Sometimes it seems like you can hardly sit in a dark corner without being heartily molested by some disgusting stranger. Perhaps you often think to yourself, “This guy smells like Taco Bell farts, and I wish he would go away, but I want to be mature and professional about it!” Never fear: The LGCR is here.

Here are a few tips for when your personal space is being invaded in a bar or otherwise likely arena by someone who cannot grasp the concept that you have better things to do this evening than lie around underneath his not inconsiderable flab, such as tongue-bathe the inner rim of your toilet.

Couple flirting in a bar

“I have to go, uh, wash my dog.”

Don’t: Make excuses.

Do not attempt to get rid of your leech by reasoning with him or trying to placate his ego with obvious false excuses. You might give him the impression that his desire to penetrate your various openings matters to you, and that he deserves to have a say in what happens to your body. Too many politicians think this already, and we certainly wouldn’t want to increase the spread of this misconception. You don’t have to apologize for denying him a chance to bust a nut. You don’t have to give him a single damn reason why you’re not interested. You’re not, and that’s all that is important. Don’t tell him you’re a lesbian if you’re not. He’ll probably just ask to join in, anyway. (This has actually happened to a friend of mine, who was engaging in a G-rated display of physical affection with her girlfriend at the time.) Don’t go out with a fake engagement ring on. He doesn’t care if you are with somebody, unless that somebody is actually inside you at that very moment and is therefore taking up all the available space. Don’t pretend you don’t speak English. Well, actually, I’ve never tried this, so maybe pretend you don’t speak English. Be sure to let me know how it goes.

"No habla espanol, senor cabra!"

“No habla, senor!”

Do: Make yourself clear.

Make direct eye contact with him. Even the most oblivious warts will pay attention if they know they have yours. Speak slowly and clearly, for you have no way of knowing how many shots of Jagermeister he has already ingested that evening. Don’t use big words; even if he isn’t drooling on himself, his comprehension of language that doesn’t revolve around his penis is going to be limited at the moment. Inform him in no uncertain terms that you are not interested. You never will be. There is precisely a zero percent chance of his mounting you or any of your friends that evening or any subsequent evening. Period. This way he cannot possibly accuse you of sending mixed messages.

"I have my father's gun and a scorching case of herpes."

“I have my father’s gun and a scorching case of herpes.”

Don’t: Be excessively rude to him.

Unless, of course, he was rude to you. Any remark that would not exit the Queen’s mouth upon meeting a powerful and benevolent head of state can easily be considered rude. Assessment of your anatomy, mention of your sexual preference, reference to you in terms he would not use to speak of his own sister, and scratching his balls while he talks are all well within the bounds of rudeness. But if he doesn’t say anything that you find legitimately offensive, it must be admitted that it is unladylike to initiate rudeness where none was previously to be found.

If you're wearing Kanye glasses, I'm pretty sure he'll already know you're an asshole.

If you’re wearing Kanye glasses, I’m pretty sure he’ll already know you’re an asshole.

Do: Be gracious and ladylike.

Smile at him as you might smile at any stranger on the streets who isn’t holding a gun to your head. Try to see where he is coming from; after all, you are looking mad fine on this particular evening. Say, “Thank you, but I’m not interested.” Or, “That’s very kind, but I will have to pass.” Or, “My good sir, I must regretfully decline thy invitation, but I bequeath unto thee this handkerchief as a symbol of my virgin womb.” Because you never know, he might be a superhero who’s going to save your life later that night. Or he might have some really hot friends.

"My father the King is currently asking three noble deeds for my hand in marriage. Get cracking, sir knight."

“My father the King is currently asking three noble deeds for my hand in marriage. Get cracking, sir knight.”

Don’t: Give him a fake phone number.

I have never understood this practice. Why on earth would you waste valuable time, energy and pen ink to trick this poor sap into thinking he has your number? First of all, he may be totally inept in the ways of social interaction and insist on calling it right there in your presence, and when it doesn’t ring, things will be very awkward for both of you. But more importantly, even if he doesn’t do that, you may have foisted him off on some other poor girl or elderly man or Chinese restaurant with that phone number who doesn’t want to talk to him, either. It’s such a hassle. If he asks for your number and you don’t want to give it to him, just tell him that. So you’re rejecting him now instead of tomorrow when he tries to call you and gets Wong’s House of Noodles. Get over it. And don’t give him the Rejection Hotline, either. They all know that trick by now.

"No, not PEKING DUCK, I said WE CAN... okay, fine, throw in some extra chopsticks."

“No, not PEKING DUCK, I said WE CAN FU… okay, fine, throw in some extra chopsticks.”

Do: Use some healthy common sense.

Go to the bar with friends, rather than going alone, in case some creep won’t lay off and has to be duct taped and thrown in the far corner bathroom stall. Watch your drink at all times, because rohypnol is a hell of a drug. Don’t go home with someone without letting at least one trustworthy, reasonably sober person know where you are. Keep your cell phone charged and with you at all times, because it could potentially be a literal lifesaver someday. And never, ever let a Stage 5 Clinger ruin your fabulous night out. You just got laid off and you’re on your period and you have a pounding headache and you are fully within your rights to enjoy three or twelve Mudslides without being interrupted by a tragic pickup attempt.

HADOUKEN!

HADOOOUUUUUUKEN!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: