I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if we combined some of our old fashioned romantic sensibilities with our new understandings of sexuality, the importance of consent, and a more evolved understanding of the female as a human rather than as a plastic dress-up doll, we could end up with something actually useful.
What you’re about to read below is not that.
It is some old fashioned romantic advice, but it’s not useful. Rather than being combined with our modern sensibilities, the below has been combined with my ill advised advice and sense of humour.
Please enjoy responsibly.
So, You’re Going on a Date: Advice for Ladies
You’ve landed a date, which is your sole purpose as an unmarried lady. This is the first step to landing the husband you need so that you can finally stop all that bothersome thinking for yourself.
First things first: Choose the underwear you hope to show off. That the underwear should be spotlessly clean goes without saying, but every woman should wear the best quality underwear that she can afford and if she can’t afford it, what’s a little debt in the grand scheme of things? Also, the color should be preferably pink with lots of lace and ruffles. This underwear says “Why, I never expected you to see these at all! I’m just a shy little pure waif waiting for a tough man like you to protect me,” whereas all other underwear says “I am a wanton whore who will probably give you the clap.” and going without underwear entirely is far too suspicious and is punishable by death.
Once you’ve chose your underwear, it’s time to choose your purse!
A lady’s handbag is always very telling about what type of woman she is and is a great way to showcase her keen sense of style. Date bags should always be small and dainty; you wouldn’t want the boy you’re with to think there’s something in the depths that bites if disturbed. Because if he catches on, he’ll probably alert the others. They can’t know. If you think he’s on to you, flutter your eyelashes and faint. His noble side will kick in and distract him from the horrible truth of what lurks in your purse and will buy you time to develop an appropriate elimination and disposal plan.
Don’t forget to put your lipstick in your purse before you leave the house and for the love of God, slap some lipstick on that pale gash you call a mouth. To remain eligible, a woman must have youth or fake it well enough that people are polite enough not to mention how far beyond child bearing years she will soon be. Rouge up those cheeks, ladies! (But not too much, you sloppy hussy!)
It’s important to make sure your make-up is done before you leave for the evening with your fella. Don’t use the car mirror to fix your make-up. The man needs it in driving and it annoys him very much to have to turn around to see what’s behind him or to have to catch glimpses of your horrifying face in the mirror.
Speaking of cars, how do you enter a car? Do you get into cars head first? You’ll look prettier if you slide in sideways at 45 degree angle while humming the national anthem. It’s an easy way to make an good impression so your guy knows he’s dating a lady with class!
Once you arrive at your dinner destination (a first date must ALWAYS be dinner first), allow your gentlemen to guide you inside the establishment- but keep that physical touch to a minimum. Don’t be familiar with your escort by caressing him in public. Any open show of affection is in bad taste and usually embarrasses or humiliates him, because you are not worthy. He has blessed you with his attention and it is your duty not to fuck it up. If you ruin this, he may move on to the others. You have a duty.
Feel free to peruse the menu after you both sit down, but try not to set your heart on any one dish. The man always does the ordering. Never ask the waiter anything for yourself. He has to think he’s in control. It will all be easier if he thinks he’s in control.
The trickiest part of the evening is certainly the conversation. If you are a gal who uses frank, men’s locker room language, DON’T on this first date. Avoid shocking your date. Even if he uses such language and hears all the guys and dolls in the senior class using it, he wants his date to be better than the rest of the crowd. However, if you have nothing to contribute to the conversation, feel free to say shocking things. He’ll be too stunned to realize what a bad conversationalist you really are.
If you’re really stuck on something to say, encourage him to tell a joke. Sure it will inevitably be a joke of incredibly poor taste and far out of date, but make believe you’ve heard this joke for the first time. Remember your most important job is to build up and maintain his ego (which gets bruised plenty in business). Morale is a woman’s business. His ego will blind him when the time is right.
Dinner is over. Your perfectly made up face, the precisely right shade of pink underpants you ‘inadvertently’ flashed him while you slid into the car, and your fawning conversation have won over his heart.
What do you do if he invites you back to his place for a nightcap? In a situation like this, social conventions can do very little to protect a girl really bent on getting into difficulties. In this case, a girl not out of her teens would do better to avoid such an engagement unless others, considerably more mature than she, are present nearby and can lend assistance when the time comes. A career girl, from her twenties onward, can accept such an invitation but should not stay beyond ten or ten-thirty, so as to avoid suspicion. An old rule and a good one is ‘Avoid the appearance of evil.’ It is still very true that the public at large is less likely to believe a pretty little woman could be capable of the terrible things that befell that man if she gets out of there long before the man in question has been discovered.
In the event he doesn’t invite you back for a nightcap, that’s all right. That’s to be expected. Invite him in for a nightcap yourself. If he refuses, release the thing in the depths of your purse and slip inside before your neighbours are alerted by the screaming.
DISCLAIMER: Please for the love of all that is good, DO NOT ACTUALLY TAKE THIS HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE ADVICE. THIS ADVICE IS MEANT FOR HUMOUR PURPOSES ONLY AND SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY OR RECTALLY.
I love Canada.
I do. Sometimes our politics make me want to punch something (and by something I mean every single current party leader) but all things considered, we’re pretty great.
One of the best things about Canada? Canadian television. Not even the GOOD Canadian television (like Kids in the Hall, Four on the Floor, Wayne & Shuster, Mr. Dressup, Fred Penner, History Bites, Red Green, or Corner Gas), but the BAD Canadian television. It’s so bad that it’s good. Prime example?
The Littlest Hobo.
If you’ve never seen The Littlest Hobo, you’re missing out. It’s like Lassie if Lassie was like “You know what? I’m a dog that saves people. Humans are clearly idiots, I’m going to just travel around saving them.” You might think I’m over-exaggerating, but if anything, I’m UNDER-exaggerating.
Here is a summary of an episode from Season 1, the episode is called “Little Girl Lost” because if there’s one thing that will confuse
children Canadians, it’s anything that’s not totally literal:
“Hobo befriends a three-year-old girl who goes missing in a sparsely-populated area. Hobo later uses his friendship with trucker Sam to return the girl to her overjoyed parents.”
First off, the dog is named Hobo (because if it’s not literal, it’s GARBAGE) and despite being a stray dog with no power of language, he befriends people and saves small children. I once saw an episode where he saved a school bus of children by getting the bus out of a raging river it was trapped in for some reason. Many of the episodes are on YouTube and definitely worth a watch if you want some fabulously dated cheese. In fact, I’ll help:
I know what you’re thinking: “There can’t possibly be a better so-bad-it’s-good moment in Canadian television history.” Well, you’re wrong. There’s a lot to choose from but nowhere is better to choose from than Canadian PSAs. This includes our Heritage moments (which deserve their own blog post) and the infamous “House Hippo” PSA (which didn’t so much teach us not to believe everything we see as it made us all think there were tiny hippos in our houses until we grew up and then desperately wanted a tiny hippo to live in our houses).
However, the single greatest moment in Canadian Television History?
OH. OH GOD. I just. I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH.
I realize that in the context of a children’s PSA and ‘putting things in your mouth’ that my exclamation might seem a little dirty, but I can’t be arsed to care.
This PSA is just THE BEST. The song has haunted me to the point that since first seeing this as a child, I have had the majority of the lyrics memorized and could sing it without seeing the commercial again. There are so many layers to this PSA, I just have so many questions.
What the hell are they?
Why does the voice-over later turn out to be a lion?
Why is there only a picture of their mother on the wall?
WHERE IS THEIR MOTHER?
How drunk were the puppeteers?
WHO THOUGHT THESE PUPPETS WERE NOT A LITTLE TERRIFYING?!
WHERE THE HELL DOES THAT STAGE COME FROM?!
Did…did the beet bring it? IS THE BEET MAGIC?
Also, what the hell kind of beet looks like that?
It looks like a potato.
Lastly, the most important question of all: Why am I so in love with this?
What the hell is it about this PSA that grabs a piece of my soul and won’t let it….
You know what?
I withdraw that last question.
P.S. Apologies for the rant this week. I spent most of tonight making biscuits for a potluck at work tomorrow. I promise next weeks will be…well, I’m not going to say BETTER, but I at least promise it won’t be about puppets. Well, not THESE puppets. Maybe.
P.P.S. If you ask someone you love and they tell you to put it in your mouth, remember that you don’t have to do what they tell you. Consent is mandatory, people.