How To Get In Trouble Without Actually Doing Anything Wrong: Girlfriend Edition

For your consideration, I extend to you, the reader, an invitation to review the following national commercial, aptly named Exhibit A.

Now we all know as much as I love women, I think we can all agree that deep down under their beautiful, amazing, God-gifted exteriors…they’re all nuts. Some more than others, and many have a good grasp and control of said nuttiness. (And of course, the flawless female readers of The Angry T do not in any way, shape, or form fit this absurdly blanketed and stereotypical statement at all). But as I sat on my couch, enjoying yet another Detroit-based sporting event that made me want to laugh, cry, and vomit all at the same time, this commercial appeared.

Offense #1: Not blinking fast enough.

“You seem to be quite enthralled with this commercial, aren’t you?” she asked. I didn’t initially turn my head to see if she, in fact, was gleaming a hole through my right ear, but I did come to a quick realization that at 27 years old, my peripheral vision had not lost a single degree of visual space. “Still 20/20” I thought to myself. Which brings me to:

Offense #2: Not turning to look/respond to the plaintiff’s first statement.

“What? You think that’s what ‘The perfect girlfriend’ should be like?”

Uh-oh. Security levels to orange. I repeat, security levels to orange!

I find what I think is a rational and very honest answer to her questions. “It’s just a commercial. I thought it was kind of funny, that’s all.” Problem solved. Time to go back to watching Sheed warm up shooting left-handed threes from the corner…

Offense #3: Believing the plaintiff’s questions had been adequately addressed in a timely, appropriate fashion.

“You don’t drool when they show those ‘I want your Bod’ commercials with the shirtless guys.”

Thanks for pointing that out. Man-card remains intact.

“Just say it, she’s hot…”

Oh, no, this isn’t going to become…

“…and you wish you could go out with your friends more rather than spending time with me…”

Ok, I can take care of that, just as long as it doesn’t turn into…

“…and you probably wish I had bigger boobs like her.”

Yup, went there. “Honey, you’re being ridiculous. It’s just a…”

Offense #4: The plaintiff is NEVER ridiculous, you jerk.

“I AM NOT BEING RIDICULOUS, YOU JERK.”

I wonder if I’ll get the electric chair, gas chamber, or lethal injection. Better not mention gas chamber… then it’ll be about her farting too much.

“I can hear what you’re saying to yourself, you know that, right? I can’t believe how insensitive you are…”

Offense #5: The plaintiff, if female, has super powers. You should have known that. Either that or stop moving your lips when you’re having an internal monologue.

(Intermission)

It has been several days since I was found guilty on all charges. My rights to a jury trial were waived… by her… and the judge threw the book at me. And a lamp. And a stiff left-cross. But in the end I pleaded mercy, so I will not be spending too much time in lock up, but rather I was placed on probation for a period no less than the rest of my life and maximally “all eternity” if she can figure out how to hunt me down in the afterlife. If I have taken anything away from this experience, and thus the moral of the story I wish to implant within each gentleman who reads this article, it is this:

When in a relationship with a member of the opposite gender, you are guilty until proven guiltier. Or until she can make you spontaneously combust. Whichever comes first.

Raging M

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