The Mr. T. Chronicles: Chapter 4 – The End.

Contrary to popular belief, polar bears are indeed left-handed (hehe) and it really is quite easy to get a girlfriend. Yes! I would know because I have dated several. Psyche! I would know because I am a girl. I’ve checked. I’m sure.

To get a girlfriend, speak her language. Yes, it really is that simple. In many Black movies, this can also be translated as ‘treat her right’ (say it with the twang). This is not to be confused with spend oodles of money on her and go to every bridal shower she feels the need to drag you along to. This means find out what she likes and do it for her. It’s not too hard. She likes flowers? Buy her flowers. She likes walks on the beach? Buy a swimsuit (so as to walk on the beach). She likes Chinese food? Oooh, it would be really cute if you could learn how to cook it and make her some at home. Women claim to be complex, but they really aren’t. Just follow the patterns.

Because really, all a woman wants is to feel appreciated. (DISCLAIMER: I bet this is not true for all women. It has become apparent that all some women want is to be abused. Or play games. I know, I don’t get it either.) Be thoughtful. Once in a while. A girl’s earnestest lol desire is to be wooed by Prince Charming. These terribly high expectations, set by Disney, will cost you dearly in the long run before they settle back to reality. But reality can be cool too! Hehe. That Luther song is a sure formula. Buy me a rose, et al. Ok though flowers die. So they’re kinda pointless. But if that’s her kinda thing, hey...

If you like a girl, like her. Text her. Or Facebook her, whatever, if she doesn’t have the Nokia 1100. Communication – in her language. I.e. if she doesn’t like being texted, don’t. :o)

At 3:30 a.m. in the morning, I dragged Mr. T. onto his bed in his state of solid inebriation. He was still coherent – that may be the wrong word to use there – enough to mutter my name as I threw his bulk on his bed and tried to cover him with his Superman duvet. (DISCLAIMER: This is not true. He does not have a Superman duvet. But it’s my blog. I can make him look silly and have bad – sorry, abominable, taste in superheroes if I want to – AT THE SAME TIME. He. He.) As I was about to leave to meet Macha, my trusty cab guy, Mr. T. flung his arm around me and said ‘Please be my girlfriend.’

I was locked in a death grip with a madman. Fortunately for me, he then proceeded to pass out.

Surely, surely, I was worth more than a random drunk proposal? Surely I was above cartoon duvets and wayward, haphazard propositions? Surely I had not sunk this low?

I walked out. It’s never that serious.