Reviving an old custom: the drink in the face
Why do thuggish, caddish men think they can get away with talking to women like this greasy self-regarding gimp allegedly did?
It's not just that guy. I have a friend, an attractive, well educated lawyer, who is also an actress. She once got a job as a backup dancer in a rap video. At one point, she had an opportunity to talk to the star of the video, whose name you'd recognize, about an idea for a video she wanted to produce. But when she said hey, [rap guy], can I talk to you for a second? his response was 'sure, let's go over here in the bushes.'
These people are everywhere, and they're almost always people with even less to be proud of than these examples of Rap Guy or Oily McHateBush, Actor Extraordinaire. I think many of them are students/victims of these "how to be a mack daddy" playa-lifestyle coaches. Why do these people try this? Because if they care about nothing more than scoring, it's a low risk strategy for identifying slutty women easily impressed with bravado. They're like singles-bar terrorists: They can fail a thousand times a night; they only have to get lucky once.
Anyway, this reminded me of another friend in England, again attractive single woman, Australian, who went to an event with a friend at one of the colleges in Oxford. Some smartass undergrad popped off to her and she retaliated with a glass of red wine across his white dinner jacket. She felt awful, and later offered to pay for the lad's dry cleaning, but I think the twerp was sufficiently abashed that he didn't take her up on it. She shouldn't have offered; he was out of line and someone in his oh-so-fantastic educational background should have explained to him at some point that there are things one doesn't say to a lady.
I think she's the only woman I know who's actually thrown a drink at someone. The custom ought to be revived. With today's elevated liquor prices, when ladies' drinks like appletinis can go for ten dollars or more, that may be an expensive proposition. But that will effectively shut down his line of attack for the evening, because it's hard to be mister debonair when girls have been dumping frozen daquiris in your lap or your carefully gelled coiffure has been deflated by a glass of shiraz.
It's a shame that you're forced to educate these louts, girls, but someone has to. Hopefully a nice man will see you stand up for yourself and spring to your rescue with a fresh drink and a ready fist if the gin-soaked lech gets mouthy. But if not, you're still doing a necessary public service and imposing costs upon what has become, sadly, costless arrogance. These guys will have to go back to the drawing board and come up with a different line. You'll be doing women everywhere a favor--and nice guys, too, who have a bit more respect for women than to open a conversation with (as the actor at the beginning of this story reportedly did) "That's cool. So how about we go home and I [bleep] the [bleep] out of you?"
Such will be my instructions for my daughters, should they be accosted by a creep. My daughters will also be told how to find his femoral artery with a martini olive-sword if he doesn't take it gracefully. (Don't worry, I'll wait until they're about nine to teach them this part). In the meantime, ladies, drinks are on him:
JYB Tailwag: Hottie Headlines.
AFTERTHOUGHT: You know how they put dye packs in bags of money that they give to armed robbers, so it blows up and sprays them with paint? Well, think of girlie-drink splashes as dye-packs for a******s.











