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In the time it took you to read the above headline, chances are I’ve already stolen your bitch. If I’m not leaving your house with her on my arm this very minute, she’s formulating a way to leave your ass with graceful subtlety. I suggest you don’t try to dissuade her. In her mind, her bags are packed and she’s on the street corner, trying to flag down a taxi. “I need you to take me to Kramer’s house,” she’ll say to the bearded, swarthy man north of the partition as she swipes your credit card.
I’ve become somewhat of an expert on wooing the taken woman. In fact, most women are only in relationships because they haven’t met me yet. There’s no solitary way I go about wrecking homes and pulling highway robbery. If you isolate any facet of my kavorka, there’s no way it’s consistent with the blue-chip women I lure. Rather, I’m just better than the sum of my parts. I’ve met a few guys who are a little better looking, or who drive slightly nicer cars and make a tiny bit more money. In all honesty, I’m not the best at anything I do — but I don’t need to be.
Take my GPA, for instance. As my freshman year drew to a close, I was sitting at a haughty 3.6 average — way too high for someone as cavalier as me. I realized I had been trying too hard, and planned my next five years accordingly. I got that figure down to a comfy 3.0 after retaking the majority of my gen-eds just to see if the next crop of underclassmen usurped the last in the looks category. And, though my family threatened to never speak to me again if I had to take any additional classes over once more, they were all plenty satisfied with my B average. It wasn’t great — just above average. And the ladies love it. A GPA like mine lets them know I studied when it mattered, and I partied when it mattered more.
Let’s get more into my personal life. I see a few guys who can lift more than me, and it’s bothersome. To clarify, being outgunned in the gym is no source of insecurity to me; it simply bothers me to know Dick Roidriguez over there doesn’t see the point of diminishing returns in being huge. I make my living being in just above average shape. I show the world that I make time to move some metal, maybe even shit, shower and shave afterwards, but I still need the majority of my day to continue stealing your woman. And don’t listen to the score of guys in my letters and a couple dozen poorly-endowed TFM commenters who will say I’m not funny. Au contraire! While someone like me, who lands near the midpoint of most upper quartiles, may fall short of being terminally hilarious, I need not be Rodney Dangerfield to get some respect from the fairer sex.
If you expected me to end this with some acquiescence or contrition over being blessedly above average, don’t hold your breath. This isn’t a humblebrag, either. I mean to be as straightforward as possible by fully acknowledging that I’m better than everyone because I’m just a little bit better than average..