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“Girl brain.” You’ve heard of it. It’s when a guy can think in the same terms as a girl and can put himself in their shoes to gain an understanding of the point they’re trying to get across.
Me? I don’t have it. But much like most guys out there, I’d like to believe that I do because walking through life with an unjustified cockiness is easier than living in question. Which is why I have some general assumptions to what girls actually mean when they talk to me.
She Says: “I’m pregnant!”
I Hear: “I’m your designated driver for the next 9 months.”
As long as she’s not telling me she’s pregnant because of me, my eyes turn into two cash registers that are taking in all the money I’m about to save on Ubers. Maybe I’ll give her the final trimester off, but until then, you can bet I’m going to be attempting to coax her into being my personal chauffeur while her husband and I paint the town red.
She Says: “I have a migraine.”
I Hear: “I’m in a fight with one of my friends so I’m skipping the dinner party she has planned so I can watch John Tucker Must Die on Bravo.”
I’ve never had a migraine, and I’m the camp that thinks people misuse the touchy word “migraine” in an effort to overstate their actual headache. In all actuality, they’re probably just dehydrated and/or looking for an excuse to couch it all night.
She Says: “She’s nice.”
I Hear: “She’s ugly.”
If the friend you’re trying to set me up with is scorching hot, you’d just come out and say it. Nice girls are a dime a dozen. Just ask every girl with fake Marilyn Monroe quotes like “Well-behaved women seldom make history” in their Instagram bios. And to be honest, all your “nice” friends probably hate all my friends at this point anyway.
She Says: “I’m gluten-free.”
I Hear: “I’m grasping at straws for an excuse to justify my diet that’s really just me not eating.”
Let’s talk in a few hours after you take down a few vodka-sodas and you see me eating a slice of Meat Lover’s pizza. I’m suuure you won’t ask for a bite.
She Says: “Oh my God, I never do this.”
I Hear: “Oh, me? Huuuuuge slut.”
Oh, we’re doing this charade now? Okay, my turn. Yeah, I totally never do this either. I just got out of a bad relationship and haven’t known what it’s like to “feel” ever since.
She Says: “I don’t want to sound mean, but…”
I Hear: “Ya girl about to be talkin’ mad shit.”
In the same breath as, “Okay, I’m not racist, but…”, this always ends poorly.
She Says: “I’m classy.”
I Hear: “I’m not classy enough to appear classy, so I’m going to explain to you how classy I am.”
You and I both know you follow every Kardashian and Jenner on Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat, so let’s just cut the shit and move on.
She Says: “Girl’s Night!”
I Hear: “I’ll text you around 11:30 when we’re all super hammered, arguing, and horny.”
If I had a dollar for every one of my friends that crashed a girl’s night and ended up going to second base, I’d be throwing lobsters at people like Leo in Wolf.
She Says: “I’m really into interior design.”
I Hear: “I have a board on Pinterest called ‘swoon’ that has over 15,000 pins of just shit that’s painted white.”
Yeah, and I’m super outdoorsy as evidenced by my all-Patagonia wardrobe that I exclusively wear to happy hours and brunches. I fly fish as much as you decorate, babe.
She Says: “We had a falling out a few years back.”
I Hear: “We went after the same guy. She won.”
Go no further, I get it. He was playing both sides and you got the short end of the stick because she went behind your back and tossed him a couple racy Snaps. You live and you learn.
She Says: “I’m not hungover, I’m just tired.”
I Hear: “I’m hungover as hell from the four bottles of Charles Shaw Sauvie-B that me and my girlfriends accidentally faced last night while watching Scandal.”
I’ve used that excuse a million times over. But the fact of the matter is, I spent most of the night before hunkered down in a dive bar avoiding the cold while drinking heady IPAs that have officially given me a splitting headache (or, you know, a “migraine”). .
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Will
Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.
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She says: Anything
I hear:
She says: “Hi, my name is Kendra.”
I hear: “Hi, I’m going to write a few half-assed, very judge-y articles, shut down possibly the greatest PGP user of all time (#TeamShibby), and then mysteriously disappear into the annals of PGP history.”
Great user. Mediocre Author. 100% flattered 🙂
via GIPHY
anals*
Kendra “never does anal”
Migraines are some serious shit… but also solid excuses
Unrelated, but I’d much rather see the chick in the article photo topless rather than Lena Dunham’s dog nose tits each time my wife watches “Girls.”
Might just do Girls recaps from a guy’s perspective to troll everyone.
I just decided Todd’s girlfriend wants to be Allison Williams’ character on Girls
Pretttttttttty pretty sure Todd would be okay with that.
Dear God yes.
Would
Eating the booty like groceries. PGP.
“Dog nose tits” I’ve never heard a more accurate description for anything, thank you
I wish they’d remake the 2000 classic, “What Women Want” with WDF instead of Mel Gibson. He doesn’t even the telepathy and is way more accurate.
I’d take that role.
According to a study i just made up, 98% of girls claiming to have migraines are actually just experiencing normal headaches.
I’m a little sad to find out that the males are aware of how Girls’ Nights actually work…
She says: I’m a good driver.
I hear: The sound of my 6000lb Land Cruiser crushing another woman’s vehicle.
I use parallel parking as a litmus test. If they can’t do that, I’m not getting in a car with them behind the wheel.
That’s why we need self driving cars, for those who can’t park/drive. Hopefully insurance doesn’t total Annie, will find out soon enough I guess.
Is “Sauvie-B” a thing now??
As a rule, I always treat my wife’s words at face value. I know she doesn’t mean “she’s fine,” but she’ll eventually get pissy enough that I’m actually acting like everything’s fine where she’ll talk about it, instead of intensity dwelling on it. It pisses her the hell off, but she gets over the original issue faster. I’m hoping that if I do it long enough that she’ll just say what she means, instead of the other alternative divorcing me for it.