Claude Mills, Staff Reporter
LAST WEEK, one of my friends came into the office, complaining that he had just met this young, sweet looking girl who, on only the second day of their relationship, had the audacity to ask him for a pair of shoes.
It was unclear if he was upset that she had asked him for something before he had had a chance to request sex of her. Or if he had simply been taken aback by her quick, mercenary approach to the 'getting-to-know-you' banter.
This is an interesting dynamic of modern-day relationships: should a woman ask a man for money? If so, how much? And should the amount be dependent on whether bodily fluids have been exchanged, length of the association, and whether the sex was pleasurable or not?
Some women just don't understand the rules.
I remember a few years ago, I had a similar problem with what I called the $4,000 girls.
You asked them on a date, and the first thing they would say is:
"Mi nuh have no clothes inna mi wardrobe, buy me something so you can take me out, nuh? About $4,000 will cover everything."
Yea, right.
It was a definite turn-off, plus sex I'm told is infinitely cheaper on the streets of New Kingston. That girl should have at least waited until the lust I felt for her had caramelled over into something more pure...like, dare I say it, love.
Believe it or not, I like independent women the kind who will call me on my nonsense, offer to split the bill at dinner, and still be female enough to let me open a door or two for her.
It is the pretenders, and the desperadoes that I have a problem with. There is something that is just plain predatory about a woman making a pre-emptive strike and asking a man for money before you have even memorised her phone number.
I eventually had a torrid affair with one of the 'pre-emptive desperadoes' a few years ago, and left that relationship with a mildly sprained soul, and an anaemic bank account.
We had had an argument, and I told her it was over. I didn't want to see her anymore, I didn't even want to hear rumours about her anymore. She got steamed, and answered: 'Well, at least mi get a what-not and a stove outta yuh'.
I was a bit shocked. It seems like the battle of the sexes ultimately boiled down to seeing how much you could gain sexually or financially from the other sex while keeping your own losses to a minimum. The relationship was simply barter a mere transaction.
I looked at her with her outie navel, and dirty Levis as though she were a gerbil: this thing that was below contempt.
She began to cry. My heart melted, and then like Pharaoh's centuries before, it hardened. A snatch of light came to me at that moment: 'It is the wisdom of crocs to shed tears when they would devour'. Always remember that.
I walked out.
She shouted expletives at me, and proposed in a way that did not invite debate that I introduce my lips to her posterior. I never looked back. The world is full of many things and many people. I knew I would find comfort elsewhere.
I have since learned to avoid these girls like the plague. When I meet girls who suddenly seem to have a lot of problems, most of which revolve around a lack of money. Red Flag. Adios. Here's my card: don't call us, we'll call you.
I take my life in my hands everytime I eat canteen food. That's the biggest risk I take with my life, and I do not try to beat the odds with gold-digging wenches. You only hear from some girls when they NEED something. So when the 25th of each month draws nigh, I put a scowl on my face, and change my voice to a deep growl when I answer the telephone.
Some of my friends believe this sort of thing works. They have honed the practice down to an art form. They call it Defensive Dating 101.
I find that it works wonders for my bank account which is much healthier these days.
You can e-mail me at cmillsy@yahoo.com
