She’s Her Daddy’s Princess; Now She Thinks She’s Yours
We’ve all been there, even if it was back in high school. We met a girl, pretty, confident, maybe smart or maybe average, and definitely knew what she wanted. In this case, she wanted us. And because we weren’t thinking with our brains at the moment (“Pretty girl! Talking! Wants me!”), we took her out to dinner, even if we had to drive there in our mom’s Volvo.
On most of our first dates, we take the chick to a middling restaurant. Not a diner, but not fifty bucks a plate, either. Something like Applebee’s, except with edible food. We did the same with this girl. And when we got in, she looked around, wrinkled her nose, and said something like, “This is it?” or, “Don’t you know somewhere better?”
Well, yes, we do. We’re just not spending that much when we’re not sure where this is going. And if we were teenagers when this happened, we wouldn’t have been able to afford better. But we didn’t say that because, again – pretty girl!
The rest of the date went okay, and she even seemed to kind of like her food. She ate some, anyway, even if she didn’t ask for a box for the rest. We got her outside, got a kiss, and got in the car. She probably didn’t come home with us (or go parking, if we were teenagers), but she did ask if we wanted to take her out again.
Whenever you hear that phrase, you should also hear warning bells.
We set up another date, this time someplace a little nicer. Maybe twenty-five, thirty bucks a plate. (At this point, we’re assuming we were adults when this all went down.) We picked her up again, even though she should be perfectly capable of getting there on her own. She asked us to, we obliged. Again, we paid for dinner, which she liked better this time. That might be why, this time, she asked, all coy, if we wanted to come home with her. Hell yeah, we did.
So we got back there, she poured some wine, and we started making out on her couch. It was all good until she pulled away and asks, “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yeah,” we said, “I do.”
Well shit. This time, the warning bells were loud and clear, but we were close to getting laid. “You’re beautiful,” we said and went in for another kiss.
“You didn’t tell me that,” she said, all snippy. “I had to ask.”
“I’m sorry,” we tried. At this point, we really just wanted to get to her bedroom, have a quickie, and get out.
Then she said something like, “I shouldn’t have to ask. You should just tell me.” The exact line varied chick to chick, but everyone here agrees we heard something like it.
So that was where we sat back and gave up on getting her undressed. We had some self-esteem, even if pretty girls could derail our minds, and we didn’t want to be reduced to groveling for sex. We weren’t into that. Each of us said something along the lines of, “Look, princess, if you’re looking for a daddy replacement, you need someone older.” Then we stood before she could hit us, straightened our clothes, and got out.
Some of you might date princesses, and we respect you for being able to handle the job. Some of you might even be married to princesses, and we admire your fortitude. But for most men, the best thing to do with a princess is get the hell out and remind ourselves not to raise our daughters to be like her.