Europeans know the American climate (excluding the west coast, from San Francisco southward) as unforgivingly harsh. Having grown up with it, I don’t find it to be so, but I recognize that, from a Parisian’s perspective, it would be. By European standards, our winters are cold and snowy, our springs are volatile and stormy, our summers are hot and humid. I enjoy these extremes, for the most part, but many Americans don’t. The American autumn, on the other hand, is unambiguously beautiful, and most Americans’ favorite time of year. We call it “Indian summer”, and although it’s cooler than the actual summer, it’s a warm and sunny season, despite its proximity to the depths of winter.
In New York, sunshine and temperatures in the 55 – 70 degree (13 – 21 C) range persist into mid-November, when temperatures plummet and winter arrives in force. This is when we give thanks to God surviving the winter; the semi-mythologized and strangely capitalized Pilgrims originally did this in the spring, after nearly half of them died in a harsh winter. It was later judged prudent to do this before the winter, preemptively.
Anyway, though it’s very American to blather about weather, I shan’t waste too much verbiage on it. As I write, it’s a beautiful day– 72 degrees (22 C) and sunny. It’s not a day to spend at one’s computer. Noting the excellent weather this afternoon, I went for a 5-mile (8 km) run. I live in Harlem, and I finished in St. Nicholas Park. I was approached by two young women– presumably Columbia students or recent graduates– conducting a survey on the state of the parks. One was average-plus but not my type, while the other I found to be very attractive.
Overt gym pickups are obviously taboo, but I believe that after exercise is one of the best times to meet women. It’s okay to be sweaty, and pheromones work to one’s advantage. Whenever I go out with the intention of meeting women, I always go for a 2- or 3-mile run, and don’t shower afterward. (However, I change clothes.) It definitely improves the odds, and I met a great girlfriend of two years that way. Having just worked out gave me the high ground. Another point to my advantage is that these women approached me.
I should have been able to turn this into a success, but I didn’t. If nothing else, I’m atrociously awful at 1-on-2. Diving obviously into the lap of the more attractive girl is a quick way to put it in the failbox. (Groups of 4-5 women are the best, because the relatively ignored 2nd-most-attractive girl is quite pretty and will appreciate the attention. She usually also has the best personality.)
After taking the short survey, I gave my email address “in case you have any further questions”. Asking for an email address is forward, but giving one’s own is not. Then, there’s an obvious way to play it. “What’s yours, so I recognize your email?” I specifically asked this of the woman I found more attractive… and the other girl gave me her email address. (Of course, the girl’s email address is not particularly useful because most emails don’t get replies. Use this to ramp up to the phone number, which you should tweet if she doesn’t return your calls.)
What I did: Said “thanks” and walked away. I was hot, thirsty, and focused more on getting something to drink than anything else.
What I should have done: “Thanks. As I’m the most intuitive man in the world, I can guess why [L.] didn’t give me her email, much less volunteer her number. [L.], you have a boyfriend, right? I’m getting the vibe that you’ve known him for 8, maybe 12 months. Anyway, that detail is not interesting to me and I won’t ask. In any case, I wish both you and him the best of luck together. Nice to meet you.” After this, I would have walked away.
Some people have a compulsive need to “set the record straight”. On some level, they consider knowingly letting a stranger be wrong to be akin to deception. So there would have been a small chance that she’d call back, “You’re wrong! I don’t have a boyfriend.” Then I could get her number, and move from there.
Most likely, it wouldn’t have mattered. She probably has a boyfriend. Almost all of the pretty ones do, in the post-apocalyptic world of ruin. Almost all of them do.
At least the leaves are turning pretty.
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