She stood there, eyes glazed like a dog as he dies under the porch. I leaned on the patio’s fence, my beer in one hand, a satisfying smoke in the other. Like most of my outings, it was going miserably. Few girls to approach, fewer that were receptive. I made buddies with a 40 something hippie. He ranted on and on about moving to Victoria, British Columbia. How we were all dead in 20 years from chemicals and rising seas. I had never seen him sober. I don’t think I ever want to.
The chick looked to me and opened a paragraph of vitrol about her friends. They had left her behind, allegedly. I listened with the most uncaring eyes. I was more interested in the tits she was displaying. Chubby tits. Full of McDonalds and KFC left overs. They were tits and I was drunk. Such is. She vanished a few minutes later. When I left I saw her at a table, alone, on her phone, looking sadder than a dying Ethiopian child.
I wasn’t really attracted to her. I just wanted to take the chance to tame her home and that was my mistake. No hormonal investment. I was being lazy and my game suffered.
When it comes to women, you need to be able to draw a line. At a job, sure, talk away. In my line of work networking means employment. I talk and keep all the females happy, even the cunty one. But if you’re on the hunt, don’t go for trans-fat fruit. Aim for the things that will drive you to make an effort. Like working out, don’t do what is easy. It gains nothing. Push yourself to go that little bit farther and you will thank yourself later.