Call me an asshole. Call me a scumbag. Call me a dickhead. But dont call me creepy. Please. I dont ask much.
All I ask is for you to belittle me accurately, and I think I speak for many humen here when I say while Ive definitely at times merited all the other stuff, the creepy description simply doesnt fit.
Its really been bothering me lately how creepy is one of the most overused and misused terms in the present dating scenery. You can be an asshole. You can be a dick. You can be all of the above and still go about things in such a way asto not deserve to be called the other one.
And yet, for as long as I can remember, creepy hasbeen the go-to phrase for women to describe just about anyone they dont want to be associated with. Girls use it to mean innocent things like vexing and ugly and I merely dont like him when actually the word has a more insidious sometimes legally so connotation.
Jared from Subway was creepy. Dark figures in shaded alleyways are creepy. Crawlers are creepy. But because of dating apps and social media and what feels like a lazy absence of vocabulary more than anything, creepy has come to mean just about everything else.
What thats done is cast an infuriate and often unfair shadows on otherwise well-intentioned men who merely dont happen to be your cup of tea.
Let me give you an example.
Say you dedicate a guy your number, but have no intention of ever texting him back. He adds you on Instagram and likes five of your not-quite-most-recent pictures.
The resulting conversation with your girlfriend typically unfolds like this: Look at this creepy guy who liked all my pics.
Now say, for instance, an attractive guy youve known for an equally short period of time does the same thing likes those same five pictures.
The resulting dialogue typically runs like this: Seem at this guy who liked all my pics!
Neither guy acted any differently from the other, and you depicted them the same level of interest. Yet one is branded and ostracized, while the other is lauded.One welcomed, while the other deemed a danger.
Its totally unfair to the guy who treated you the exact same style. You dont need to ever consider or even answer the first guy. But you dont need to label him the style we labelmen who fuck blow-up dolls either.
A few months ago, I procured myself in a strangers bedroom on the other side of township at 5 am. Wed met at a depict and jumped and danced and took a taxi back to her place.
The ride went a little long, and it became clear that some of the energy that bound us together in the first place had begun to dissipate. That moment wed is in conformity with, that wed decided in, that marriage committed to it was closing.
It happens with every moment, and all you can do is hope that window doesnt closed on you before youre done with it.
Anyway, that was the impression as we stumbled into her very neat and considered room. I immediately got a bad feeling. A sea of pillows sat erect at the top of her bed, and the front one, all white and puffy, had a imprint of Drakes face sew into the front.
I hate Drake. Hes one of my two least favorite people on the planet, behind the current president. I detest him so much, Im willing to ruin a night over it.
Of course, I said something. I made a lighthearted gag about how fundamental and derivative her music savor was for a girl Id met at an indie rock rave. She shrugged it off and hit me right back with a joking insult, then grabbed me and pulled me onto the pillow.
We continued to trade playful insults as we rolled around, kissing and undressing. She sent one, and I sent one back. It went on like this for a while, all in good fun. The moment had returned, and we both seemed committed to it.
Then, I snuck in a compliment as she came up for air and ran her hands over my scalp.
Your bangs, I said. Im lost in them.
Shit, she said. You have, like, perfect hair.
Yeah, I acknowledged. I know.
Youre kind of an asshole, she whispered, still laying on me, through an I-mean-it-but-I-dont-care grin. You may actually be the worst person Ive ever met.
A little intense, I believed. Ill play along.
If thats your game, I said, smiling, then you only might be a bit of a bitch.
A switch immediately flipped in her head. She jumped up and became enraged.
What did you say to me? Did you merely call me a bitch? Did you merely call me a BITCH ??! You do NOT call me a bitch in my own apartment. Nobody calls me that. Who do you think you are? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ?! Get by! GET THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW!
I did not protest. I did not even speak. Id resigned myself to the fate of the moment, and it was over. I just laughter, zipped up, strapped on my shoes and walked out into the frost rain at 5:15 am.
Fast forward six months. I wentto same type of show in the same neighborhood. I was with my same friends from the last prove. And all of a sudden, here comesBangs Girl, walking up to the bar.
Bangs Girl! I never believed Id find her again. How often do you get to confront someone who treated you so awfully? I merely had to go say hello.
I ran up smiling, to try to laugh the whole thing off and make amends. She was not happy to see me. I apologized and said she might have owed me one, too. She didnt insure things that way.
Instead, she said this: What are you doing talking to me? This is so creepy!
To which I took much offense.
Thats not what this word means.
I did not follow you here. I did not ambush you in a tight space. Just seeing someone in a place you also happen to be at doesnt make it creepy. Thats coincidence. And maybe a little understandable, bearing in mind the fact that you listen to the same music in the same city.
I did not stalk your social media. I did not text you ever. I did not show up back at your doorway when the sunshine came out demanding my umbrella which I needed, by the way.
You just happened to ever assure me again, and I just happened to say hello.
A dick move? Probably. Riling? Surely so.
Call me an asshole. Call me whatever. But dont call me creepy. Please. I dont ask much.