Jack Maxim and Jane Cosmo on a First Date

by S. Swartzman
Boy, my hands sure are sweaty. I hope she doesn’t want to shake hands. Why would she want to shake hands? This is a date, not a job interview. How do I know if this is a date? Maxim says, Go in for a hug, but keep looking her in the eyes. Eventually this will probably have to turn into a kiss, and you’re on your way to the sack. I guess I could try that. “Hi, Jane.”

“Hi, Jack. How are you?” Oh god he’s not nervous at all. Did you hear that “Hi, Jane?” He gave me the “sister hi” I was reading about. And he’s coming in for a hug. Cosmo, does he know this is a date? If he holds the hug for 1.1-1.3 seconds, he doesn’t think of you as more than friends … yet. If he holds it for 1.4-1.6 seconds, he’s just looking for a hussy. If he holds it for 1.7-1.9 seconds, he’s the real thing, and you’re on your way to the altar. Ok, that’s one one-thousand, two one-thou—wait, how long was that? Was that the hussy hug? Should I try that again? Was he staring at my cheek? “Um, shall we?”

Was she counting under her breath? “After you.” Hold the door, douche. Holding the door. Perfect. Now put your hand on the small of her back. Ok, hand on the small of the back. These little acts of guidance show this girl that you want to guide her straight to the sack. Wait, wait. I don’t want to go straight to the sack. What about coffee?

“Oh, thank you.” I remember this one. If he holds the door for you, it means that he wants to care for you. In response, pretend that you don’t have hands for the first 20 minutes of the date. Don’t touch your hair or the door or the chair or the table. Men like to feel important, and what would be more important than caring for a quadriplegic? A quadriplegic? Is that how he sees me? Not that I’m prejudiced or anything, but isn’t that sending him the wrong message? Oh, well.

Women like questions. It’s their beer. Get ‘em drunk on questions and they won’t know the sick from the sack. Oh, I don’t know about that. I thought I would tell her that anecdote about the time—Questions! Women would date a question mark if it could get it up. Ok, ok. “So, what kind of coffee do you like?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You decide.” More helplessness! “I just can’t seem to do anything for myself these days.” Why did we have to go for coffee? I was already so anxious about this. And in thirty minutes I’ll feel gassy, especially after I squeezed into these jeans. Now I’ll have to look really interested while my intestines feel like squeaking balloon animals. Whatever you do, don’t pass gas until after the altar. Oh, jeez. “Actually, maybe a decaf.”

“Want anything else?”

Do I? You don’t. A man will never love a woman who eats more than he does. This one can be explained through evolut— I’ll take your word for it. “No, I’m fine with a coffee.”

“How about a muffin?”

“Only if you’re having one. No, wait, only if you’re having two.”

“And a napkin?”

“Uh, if we’re having muffins.” Once he turns away, this is a good opportunity to search through his belongings for traces of other women. What!? A girl can never be too careful about her man. I guess. Is that a copy of Maxim in his bag? Ew, he reads that rag? Shoot, he’s coming back.

“Here you go.” If you’re not too much of a stupid moron to forget everything, remember this: Confidence. Women like confident men, even if they look like twerps like you. Ok, chest: puffed. Jaw: clenched. Eyes: squinty. Say her name, and follow that with a question. “Jane, what kind of name is Jane?”

What’s wrong with him? Are his pants too tight too? He could barely get that question out. “Umm, Anglo- Saxon, I think. What about yours?”

“Anglo-Saxon, too.” Question it! “Can you believe it?” Damn. That one was rhetorical.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Oh no! A lull! Lulls remind men of all the sports they’re missing. Fuck!

Oh no! A lull! Lulls let women know that you’re a good listener. Fuck yeah! Milk it, and then sock her with another question. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. “What are you thinking?”

Was he counting under his breath? “I’m thinking about what you just said.”

“So what are you thinking about now?”

“I’m thinking about what I’m thinking.”

“I see. And now?”

“Why? What are you thinking about?”

Don’t let women ask too many questions. Take command of the conversation, and give her a compliment while you’re at it. “I’m thinking about your face. It’s beautiful and flat, like high-society dishware.”

“That’s nice.” That’s strange.

Nice is a bad sign. Nice means you’re not going to sack this girl tonight. Isn’t that a football term, and doesn’t it mean something violent? Do you want to sack her tonight or not? And what if I don’t want to sack a girl on the first date? I—I don’t understand. What if I’m not that kind of guy? What? I mean, all guys are that kind of—what? But chicks love—I don’t, I can’t… bro pussy sausage jokes! BZZT! The muscle fear penis lady time! BZZT BZZTSCHK! Hello? Hello? Maxim? Oh god.