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I Can’t Be Your Wingman, Baby

I have got to learn how to be a better wingman. I have no swagger, no easy sense of talking to boys or turning on the charm. It’s just not something that I ever learned, so now I’m completely inept when it comes to helping my friends meet guys. Here are the two personas I tend to take on:

Yes, ma'am.

Yes, ma’am.

  • Aggressively pushy. “YOU NEED TO MEET MY FRIEND EMMA! YOU NEED TO! YOU NEED TO! SHE’S PERFECT! SHE’S SMART AND FUNNY AND SHE PLAYS FIELD HOCKEY!” All the while, I’ll have been pinching the boy or prodding him in some severely unenticing way.

    Emma and me at Kaboom

    Emma and me at Kaboom

  • Get the heck out of here! I see contact being made, and I run as fast and as far away as I can. Unfortunately, the whole point of being a wingman is to back your girl up until she’s got it. Ditching from the get-go is entirely counterproductive.
Poor Emma.

Poor Emma.

N.B. This post was written in honor of Emma, and how poorly I wing-manned her last Saturday. I managed to combine personas one and two, and man, was it not a good mixture. I am willing to sign up for lessons or tutorials if anyone’s offering! For now, I’ll probably stay out of the way, and not offer up my mediocre services.

*face palm*

*face palm*

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