15 days from now I will officially be teetering on the brink between mid and late thirties. And as I’m sure most of you do when you have a birthday approaching, I’ve been taking stock of my life and myself. And while there are plenty of things I hope will change for the better before my next milestone birthday, there is one thing lesson I’ve learned in my old-ish age for which I am particularly grateful: I have learned to appreciate a nice guy.
Like every other chick in the world does at some point in her life, I’ve been enthralled by asshole men
last week in the past. I’ve mistaken angst for excitement, insecurity for passion, and lack of consideration for fear of commitment. I’ve explained away unspeakable acts as the price of entry to being with an “interesting” man. I’ve turned a blind eye to disrespect, ignored my friends’ concern about shitty treatment, and acted like my life was the physical manifestation of Jon B’s “They Don’t Know”. I’ve mistaken emotional availability for simpishness, an eagerness to talk to me as desperation, and uncomplicatedness for boringness. As I wrote about on Monday, I’ve overlooked the good guy while gnashing my teeth over the jackass, because I thought that nice = boring.
At the ripe old age of I’m not telling, I am all about the nice guys. I’m all for a man who hits me up on gchat at the same time every day and actively participates in the conversation rather than drifting off after seven lines. I’m all about the man who asks me what I want to do on a date and over the one who bullies me into doing what he wants or worse, doesn’t even know what he wants to do. These days, if you’re not nice to me I don’t want to know about you.
I’m no longer interested in a man who doesn’t call after the first slam – no “extenuating circumstances” can explain away the fact that that is not nice. If you have me at your house after 10pm and don’t offer me cab fare home, you’re officially not nice and I officially don’t want to know about you. The minute you make me feel crazy, make me feel insecure, or make me feel like I’m not allowed to ask you a simple question, you’re stripped off your nice guy title and I’ll be looking for the runner up to fulfill your duties.
At __ years of age I realize that there is a beautiful simplicity in dealing with a nice guy. There is a spare cleanliness to being in an uncomplicated relationship, zen in not wondering where you stand. Do the butterflies dissipate when you get involved with a man that keeps you guessing? Sure they do. But at this point I’ve had enough butterflies to fill several colonies and I’ll take peace in my heart over knots in my stomach any day of the week.
But don’t misunderstand me – I’m not advocating for the simp. No matter how old I get, I will never be the kind of woman who can be with a man who lets me rule him. I will never get wet over a punk, never respect a man who doesn’t know how to put me in my place. But I do appreciate a man whose default position is nice and only brings out his assholeness when the situation warrants it.
I’m getting older and my blood pressure is rising and I can no longer deal with dramatics in my life. I don’t want to agonize over how to best word a text message to increase the chances that the fuckwit on the other end will respond. I have a job and a blog and a life and I no longer have time to be up half the night on the phone with my girlfriend, going over everything that happened between me and the man du jour to figure out why his behaviour has suddenly gone left. I want a man who is nice enough to tell me when he has a problem and stick around long enough to see the discussion through to a resolution.
At a certain point in every woman’s life she has to recognize that she’s aged out of certain things. The same way that you have to give up your bra-free days when gravity takes hold of your titties, so must you relinquish your hold on the assholes of the world and let the young energetic ones beat their heads against the wall over them. If you’re in your late thirties and still losing sleep over a not-nice guy, it’s time for you to re-evaluate your lifespace.
10 years ago my motto was “you’ve got to be at least a little bit of an asshole if you want to be Mr. Max”. These days it’s “Oh you’re a nice guy? Then come sit by me.”
What say you ladies? Are you embracing the nice guys or are you still losing sleep over the fuckwits? Men do you start embracing nice girls at a certain point in time or do you chase after crazy until the day you die? Speak on it in the comments.
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