Freestyle Fridays are intended to be a chance for me to write about topics which interest me, but don’t fit anywhere in particular. Today: How Not to Ask a Girl Out, as learned by 6-year-old me.
I’m not going to preface this story with the lie that I’ve got any smoother in the last 23 years. I’d like to think I’ve managed to internalise at least some of the lessons I’m graciously passing on, but I’d like to think a lot of things.
My first attempt at asking a girl out came in Year 1 of primary school. For non-Brits, Year 1 is our second year of school. No, it doesn’t make any sense to us either.
To clarify the context, I was 6 years old and I’m pretty sure she was too. I’m confident that most of the wisdom contained in these guidelines is timeless, but I make no guarantee as to its applicability across ages, genders, orientations or cultures. I am not a licensed romantic professional. I don’t think anyone is.
How Not to Ask a Girl Out (as learned by 6-year-old Matt)
- Don’t pull her hair. There are situations where this might be acceptable: these situations involve mutually-informed consent, at least one positive interaction, and both of you being considerably older than 6.
- Don’t cry when she tells the teacher that you pulled her hair. You might have heard some girls say they want a sensitive guy. This is not what they mean.
- Don’t ask her out via multiple-choice questionnaire. Specifically, don’t ask her out via a multiple-choice questionnaire you got your mum to help you design, and that you illustrated with a red felt-tip pen.
- Don’t get your dad to hand her the questionnaire because you’re too scared. Some girls are attracted to guys who are close to their parents. Some aren’t. No girls are attracted to guys who hide behind their father while he delivers their mail.
- Don’t hide from her for the rest of the day. There’s playing hard to get, and then there’s helping her forget you exist.
- Don’t follow her around for the rest of the next day in anticipation of an answer. Persistence can be a virtue; so can patience. I’ve read Nicomachean Ethics and Republic, and I don’t recall creepiness being praised even once. That’s a philosophy joke, in case you didn’t find me insufferable already.
- Don’t cry when she gives you her answer. See point 2.
There you have it: a straightforward 7-step guide, based on a collection of my past reflections and in no way referring to a specific incident in which I was the principal, tragic player. If you found my advice helpful, or if you have your own romantic insight to share, please do comment below. If you’d like to see more – or less – stuff like this on my blog, let me know. I’m all ears.
I’m going to be a killjoy and highlight that the above piece is intended to be humour. If you don’t find it funny, I don’t blame you; but please don’t take it seriously, and never act on my advice.