Being the kind of woman whose friends tend to be men, I hear my fair share of guys complaining that they attract one psychotic woman after another.
I feel their pain.
For some reason, I run into them, too, and they all want to be my New Best Friend. I’m not kidding: it happens just about every time I get a chance to get out of the house by myself (note that last word, because I consider it important).
It goes like this: I’ll grab a book or magazine and head down to a nearby restaurant/bar where I look forward to being able to read uninterrupted while someone else cooks my meal and fixes my martinis for a change, then cleans up when I’m done. That’s nothing exciting compared to how some folks unwind, I suppose, but it’s a nice way to get some “me time” while still being around purported grown-ups. It is also, in fact, one of my few opportunities to actually sit and read, so I look forward to such evenings, which come few and far between.
Inevitably, some woman who’s also out by herself will see me sitting there and decide that I’m “safe”. (No, I don’t have a shirt that reads “I’m called VENOMOUS Kate for a reason.” Perhaps I should fix that?) So she’ll pull up a bar stool and order a drink, and I can usually tell exactly what I’m in for based on whatever she’s having.
Wine? She’ll have one glass, perhaps two at the most, and make small talk before dashing off to meet friends. Lovely, except that her small talk will still interrupt my reading time.
Beer? If she orders an import, she’ll act like a Wine Girl. But if she orders American — particularly if she orders a long neck — I know I’m in for a story about whatever rotten man she’s dating/married to/just broke up with.
Hard liquor of any form (except martinis, and I’ve never met another woman who orders those until I get them hooked on the things), and especially hard liquor in the form of a shot to accompany her beer, means that not only will I be treated to the sob story of her miserable love life, but then she’s going to start asking my opinion of the guys in the bar.
It does no good to let her know up front that: (a) I’m married; and (b) even if I weren’t I’d still have a low opinion of most of the men there because, after all, this is a small town in Kansas. Big thinkers and cultural connoisseurs aren’t known for flocking here, Yours Truly excepted.
The next step, aside from the Wine or Import Beer girl, is the part that truly chaps my hide. You see, in the process of wanting to become my New Best Friend, they lead off complimenting all sorts of things. My hair, my outfit, my nails, my smile (and, no, I don’t tell them the whole dental story). I smile, thank them, and go back to reading my book, hoping against hope that the excruciating experience is over.
But it never is. Oh, no.
Just as I finally figure out my place on the page, they invariably come up with: “What do you think of my (fill in the blank)?” It might be their shoes, their nail polish, their outfit or hair. Somehow, some way they want some validation from me.
That’s where things start to get tricky.
You see, if I say something like “It’s not my taste but it looks good on you” the beer-and-a-shot or hard liquor girls will then immediately launch into all of the things that are, in their opinion, wrong with me. Even the things they just spent the previous 15 minutes complimenting: “You know, cute as it is, your hair would really look better longer.” OR “I like that shirt you’re wearing, but brown isn’t really the best color with your skin tone.”
On the other hand, if I respond to their (seemingly bottomless need) for validation with “Oh, I love it!” and go back to my reading, they will keep asking questions until they come up with something I don’t like.
In other words: it’s a setup. A time-wasting, infuriating, ridiculously inane setup from which there is NO escape, short of drinking at home. (Which, although having its merits, comes with the distinct disadvantages of: (a) still being home; (b) having to clean up after myself; and (c) also having to make small talk with VH right at a time when I really, truly need to not be talking with anyone at all.)
I don’t understand why women do it. I don’t like that I get lumped in with those who do simply because I, too, happen to own a pair of breasts (which, incidentally, are spectacular). I really don’t know why it happens, much less how I can avoid it.
But I sure hope I figure out, pronto, how to put an end to it. I’m due for a night out on my own, soon, and I just bought a new Jim Butcher novel to read.
Thursday, October 25th, 2007, 4:02 pm | 
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October 25, 2007 at 5:20 pm
Sit in a booth instead of at the bar. : ( That’s all I’ve got. Or else just go straight with them: Sorry, but I didn’t come here to talk. I’m reading.
October 25, 2007 at 5:41 pm
I’m with Anwyn – a straight out – “Thank you, but I’m reading so I can’t talk right now”.
If you try to say anything else, more conversation will ensue. You don’t need to explain or apologize. Just stick with the above sentence, repeat as necessary, keep the book in front of your face, and (if she’s not overly psychotic) she’ll just call you a name and leave.
October 25, 2007 at 6:12 pm
I was going to have the shirt made for you. Except it might then attract the males who have something to prove to themselves or someone else.
October 25, 2007 at 6:21 pm
Tried that, Jim. Wanna see the scar?
October 25, 2007 at 6:36 pm
Jae, you are a wise, wise woman. That is *precisely* the reason I don’t have one. Guys do, indeed, seem spurred on by the notion of ‘conquest’ when a woman comes straight out and says, as I do, that she’s a bitch.
But I’ll save that rant for a night when I feel like picking on men.
October 25, 2007 at 6:51 pm
I always thought I was the friendly sort, and if I’m standing on a sidewalk in NYC the resident kook will pick me out of the crowd, but I have never, ever had a woman come plop down next to me and start talking.
Wait a minute. Maybe I’m the one doing it….. But I’d ask you about your book, not your nail polish.
October 25, 2007 at 7:12 pm
Um, Anne, you aren’t wearing bright purple plum polish with silver glitter, are you?
No, seriously, you’re a writer. A real PAID writer, at that. I know darned well you understand the significance of an open book in front of a person, regardless of whether they’re in a bar or not.
October 25, 2007 at 7:19 pm
That would be NO nail polish. Or just a little remaining of the clear polish I put on a few months ago.
I’ve been around but uncharacteristically quiet. I tried to get on your community list several times but am not smart enough. Or have too many cookie blockers or something. Will have to get my 12-year-old to figure it all out.
October 25, 2007 at 6:19 pm
Plan B could be to demonstrate your venomosity at its best. Just begin with “Look, I am not the least bit interested in…” Followed by the things you listed above in your usual erudite language.
October 25, 2007 at 7:47 pm
You mean MyBlogLog.com?
October 25, 2007 at 9:48 pm
Got any … err… evidence to back that up? Nothing personal, I’m just a “trust but verify” kind of guy.
October 25, 2007 at 10:57 pm
Ok, this is easy. Just hit on them, which is all the validation that they desire anyway. Ask if their boobs are standard equipment or options. Guaranteed to get them to bail in an instant–it is Kansas afterall, Toto.
October 26, 2007 at 9:55 am
Actually, that sort of thing happens to me whenever I’m out in public reading. It doesn’t matter where I’m at either.
I’m thinking of carrying a large sign that reads: “I’m Reading. Leave me the F*ck Alone!”
Would that finally work? Maybe, maybe not, but then at least if they do bother me I have something nice, heavy, and sturdy to smack ‘em with. XD
October 26, 2007 at 6:33 pm
No, wearing a sign or a shirt won’t work. Possibly sititng in a booth might, but then it would have to be dark enough so they can’t see you and then you wouldn’t be able to read.
I just fake the fact that I didn’t hear them the first time, so they have to repeat themselves. Then I do the “I’m sorry, this book is so good I can’t put it down.” And keep that up until they get the idea. If they are really desperate they’ll keep talking, that’s when you get rude because you have every right to (at least in MY opinion).
October 26, 2007 at 7:48 pm
Only one response can work. At the first comment, say, “I’m reading.” Then return to your book.
October 26, 2007 at 9:57 pm
for some reason i have this happen to me at target all the time. except they are not pissy, they are jusrt freakin wierd. nothing like being followed around the store by some freak telling you her life story when all i want to do is eat my cookies and shop. bitches.
October 27, 2007 at 9:13 am
Wear a big, bulky backpack. Sit at a table for two. Set the backpack on the other chair. If someone has the gall to try to move it, get extremely offended.
October 27, 2007 at 11:06 am
Rammer wrote, “Just hit on them, which is all the validation that they desire anyway.”
Be prepared for success.
October 27, 2007 at 11:23 pm
If you figure out WHY this happens, please let us know. I have the same problem.
October 28, 2007 at 10:36 am
Apparently it’s all your fault.
October 28, 2007 at 11:40 am
I have a different problem.
Because of my shy, retiring nature I find that I attract bossy women who think they can walk all over me. They’re the kind who are convinced that I’m in need of (and will happily accept) attitudinal reconstruction.
But the babes I adore think I’m a wuss!
There must be a way out of this dillema, though as yet I haven’t a clue what it is.
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October 27, 2007 at 9:06 am