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>Roissy Reconsidered


No date tonight!

The other day I made some critical remarks about some dating advice from pickup guru Roissy — specifically, a list of things prospective Don Juans can do to keep the ladies “on their toes” and generate a certain level of mystery, always enticing to the fairer sex. I have reconsidered one suggestion of Roissy’s, which I now realize is sort of brilliant. That is:

Cancel dates. (Make the reason seem apparently legitimate, but suspicious.)

Your success in using this tactic, of course, is largely dependent on how good you are at concocting vaguely plausible but not completely convincing excuses for canceling. Here are several to get you started:

“Sorry, babe, can’t make our date tonight. I’ve lost all my shoes.”

“I’m going to have to take a raincheck on our weekend getaway in the Berkshires, snuggle-bunny. I have gotten my head stuck in a bucket.”

“Oops! No go for tomorrow, sugar-tits. I just realized our salsa dancing class conflicts with my speech at the 93rd Annual Dirndl Appreciation Society meeting.”

“Tuesday night is out, cupcake. I have climbed up a tree and I just can’t seem to figure out how to get back down.”

“I feel terrible about this, stinky, but there’s no way I can make it tonight. I have completely lost my sense of direction and have been walking in circles for the past ten hours.”  

You may use any of these you want. You’re welcome! And suggest your own, if you wish.

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17 replies on “>Roissy Reconsidered”

>"I'm really sorry about this, ballbuster, but I can't make it to the spring formal. My therapist says you're not real." "I can't make it to your uncle's wedding, potato. The escalator just broke down midway." "Hey butterbutt, I meant to call you, but these shiny Vulpix aren't going to breed themselves."

>Hate to tell ya, billygoat, but I just can't make it to your shindig, I have to make sure to mail this money off to this nice Nigerian prince so that I can donate to the sexy ladybot revolution. Now, now, don't get huffy; we all have to do our part.

>Hey, shit tits. About the Slash concert tonight–can't make it. I've got this coupon for KFC, so I'm gonna be unavailable for a while, actually.

>As a jazz player and collector, I have a built in excuse. "There's a jam session or such-and-such is spinning platters." Total, inevitable sausagefest. No woman would WANT to go. Jazz, like cars, is a safe zone for misogynists.

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