As I was listening to an ex skewer me the other day, pounding the table with her fist and laughing so hard she cried, it occurred to me. The very quality that sometimes attracts women to me—assertiveness—invariably repels them later.
Ladies, if you sit in a theatre nowadays and wish someone would say something to the loud clod behind you, trust me; you don't really. Because when the time comes and some chattering asshat pisses me off enough that I actually stand up, turn around, and ask him to kindly shut his hole, you will sell me out. "John, please!" you'll cringe, slinking into your seat, tugging on my sleeve and avoiding eye contact with the guy. "Let's just move!" A confrontation with him generally doesn't happen, but one with you is a certainty.
"Do you have to do that?" you'll say in the post-mortem later, as if when we started dating you didn't reinforce the hell out of such behavior. Why, yes. Yes I do.
That sort of...confidence, I guess...has gotten me punched a few times in my life. Other than the girlfriend's reaction, getting punched isn't so bad. I'm sure an athlete would be able to drop me, but Joe Methhead frankly doesn't hurt that much. And they're freaked out when you just brush off their punch to your face and calmly continue explaining why, for the benefit of the species, they shouldn't procreate.
Dorkass, who I never dated, so don't start with that crap again, likes to tell one such story. Perhaps if we ask her nicely, she'll share.