Something keeps happening, and it’s driving me absolutely insane. I can’t work out if it’s a thing people do when they’re not all that interested, or it’s just sheer laziness and self-absorption. Either way, I’ve had enough.
Please, PLEASE, ask me a fucking question.
A Rant
I’ve had a few little chats lately, with both men and women, but this problem only seems to happen (to me) with men. I’m convinced that they’re completely incapable of asking a question. It’s like they’ve never heard of follow-up questions.
I love questions. Unanswered questions make my brain itch. I was under the impression that questions were a great tool when getting to know someone and trying to work out if they’re a person you’d like to date/fuck/whatever.
Apparently, though, I’m the only one who thinks that.
I’ll ask shit that actually helps me to know someone, such as:
What did you do on your last birthday?
What’s your comfort food?
Where do you want to travel?
What are you most proud of in your life?
What were the last three songs that you listened to?
I won’t just throw questions out, one after the other, like an interrogation; I work them naturally into conversation. I get excited about whatever they’re talking about, and I want to know more. I’m inquisitive, so I ask questions. They just pop into my head. I want to know this particular thing, so I’m going to ask about it.
That’s conversation, isn’t it?!
The responses will be the most conversation-killing lines you’ve ever seen in your life, and these fucking chaps have the audacity to get annoyed when I ghost ‘em.
Pah.
“Yeah, it was great, thanks.”
What the fuck am I meant to say that? Great? Awesome? Well done, you?
How am I? What’s my favourite food? How did I sleep? Where do I want to travel? How’s my fucking day been? WHAT DID I DO ON MY LAST BIRTHDAY?
Maybe, just maybe, women don’t want to date you because you have the conversational skills of a marrowfat pea.
Ask Me a Fucking Question!
I’ve stopped responding when they respond in lazy ways. Conversation-kill me, and I’ll leave you on read.
I mean, if they really were interested, if they really wanted to get to know me, they’d be asking questions, wouldn’t they? They’d be trying to know more about me, like I tried to know more about them, right?
RIGHT?!
She’s pulling out the caps, so you know she’s fuckin’ mad.
After a while our chit-chats start to feel like an interrogation. I’m the only one asking questions, so why wouldn’t it feel like that? I’m sat, staring at the screen, desperately trying to think of something cute to say back, and they’re giving me no convo-flow help. If I ask another question, that’s five questions in a row… to their zero questions.
I’m interrogating them.
Do you want to know the kind of questions I’ve been asked recently, by men who apparently have an interest in me? Allow me to share them with you:
What’s my favourite sexual position?
Do I take it in the ass?
Vibrators or dildos?
Perfect penis?
And my lazy AS FUCK favourite response to basically any question: Yeah, you?
BUT WHAT DID I DO ON MY LAST BIRTHDAY?!?!?!
Actually, in hindsight, perhaps that’s not the best question to ask me… I had a smear test for my last birthday, and a colonoscopy the year before that.
It’s just very frustrating when I get a little crush, silently send them crush-vibes until they finally talk to/message me, then the chat is about as interesting as a bowl of bland porridge.
Sprinkle some sugar or something in there, will you?
Or y’know, just ask me a fucking question.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Five AM.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here:
