I have nothing against romance. I like to be wooed. I welcome it. I even like certain traditional romantic gestures; for example, I love to receive flowers. There’s no surer way to my heart than to bring me a bunch of peonies. I’ll take a beautiful bouquet over diamonds any day. But there are some lovey-dovey gestures that I cannot stomach, things that seriously should have been edited out of the romance handbook. So, guys, if you’re going to attempt to woo me — and you are, aren’t you? — please, pretty please, don’t do the following seven things.1. Please don’t pick me up. On Monday’s episode of “The Bachelorette,” one of the dudes — it was either Constantine or Ben; I am incapable of telling them apart until I get a new prescription for my glasses — picked Ashley up, romance novel-style, and carried her inside. Please don’t ever try this with me, dudes. Two things might happen: 1) you might not be able to pick me up because I am heavier than I look and you’re not as strong as you think and 2) I will think you are a total cheeseball for even trying. I am capable of walking myself.
2. Please don’t scatter rose petals on my bed. My sheets and duvet cover are Dwell and they cost more than the roses you just slaughtered. Rose petals stain when they’re mashed into fabric by two sweaty bodies f**king on top of them. Not that we’ll be doing that because you’ll be busy cleaning up the foliage while I watch with my arms crossed.
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3. Please don’t get in the bathtub with me. First of all, I rent, which means I’m stuck with the bathtub I have, which happens to be on the small New York apartment side. We won’t fit comfortably. But even if we did, even if we were sitting in the world’s largest bathtub, I still don’t want you there. Baths are my time to be quiet, with only myself, Dan Savage’s podcast about anal sex, and a glass of wine to keep me company. You and your penis, which is floating to the surface, by the way, and bobbing in the water like a sad, lonely tree branch, are a distraction. Also, you have no idea how to wash long hair thoroughly so please don’t try that either. This isn’t “The Notebook.” (Unfortunately. If it was, rules 1-7 would no longer apply.)
4. Please don’t buy me a year’s supply of chocolate. When I was 12, my dad gave me a 20 lb. bar of chocolate for Valentine’s Day. It took a year to chip away at the thing and eat it all. I haven’t really had a sweet tooth since.
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5. Please don’t serenade me with a song that you think is romantic but actually isn’t. It never ceases to amaze me how many times I’ve heard about a man asking a woman to marry him at a Pearl Jam concert while the band plays the song “Better Man.” That song is about a woman leaving an abusive relationship. It’s really not romantic. So, like, if you were to play that — or any other song that actually is far less romantic than the name implies, like, say, “You’ve Really Got A Hold On Me” — on your guitar and sing it to me while I was in your bed, the gesture might be sweet, but I would conclude that you’re not very smart at analyzing song lyrics. Not that such an ability is necessary to be in a relationship with me; after all, I once told my best friend that the “catwalk” referenced in Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” was a slang term for “vagina.” I just don’t want a lovely romantic moment to be ruined by such a gross misinterpretation. Anyway, as I am here to help, may I suggest G. Love and Special Sauce’s “Gimme Some Lovin’” as a replacement? A guy once sang that to me and, like, I loved him for three years after that.
6. Please don’t set the scene by lighting an insane amount of candles. Maybe it’s because I had a scare once and almost died, post-coitus, in a fiery inferno. Okay, I exaggerate. But a guy once lit more than a dozen candles to “set the mood” — nevermind that this was a drunken hookup — including a couple of sconces on the wall (why he had sconces, I don’t know), and he forgot to blow them out before we passed out. I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night because burning hot wax was pouring down on my foot. Blisters are not romantic.
Related: 10 Types Of Guys You Should Avoid Dating
7. Please don’t feed me. Are we roleplaying “baby bird and daddy bird”? Of course not. I think it’s nice that you want to give me a bite of your food; sharing is caring! I appreciate that you’re letting me use your fork so that the flavors don’t mingle with the ones on mine; but just hand me the fork and I will pop the delicious morsel in my maw all on my own. I mean, I’ll make exceptions if we’re eating at home, but if we’re eating at home, aren’t we probably eating the same thing? I suppose we could have ordered Chinese takeout, but then we’re probably eating family-style anyway. Who eats the entire carton of lo mein on their own? No one, amiright?
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