True to form, it’s been a good while since I last posted. Four weeks away at Christmas, including two in Spain. Then a spell in hospital with a minor heart problem. Yes. That’s right. A heart problem. Thankfully it was very minor (pericarditis), but it took them a while to confirm that. And when they brought a grave looking specialist in to talk to be about my blood test, for a moment I honestly thought my time was up. To be fair, I am almost 40. I act like I’m 20, but I’m heading into middle age here.
The funniest part of the whole health scare was that the chick doctor who was looking after me looked bang up like Matt C. I mean EXACT. Even JJ said it. The whole escapade was surreal.
I dropped JJ off at Heathrow this afternoon and from tomorrow it’s back to normal. Two more months of my current contract, finish in March, then I suppose it’s another summer off. Another influx of students and another European adventure. Those of you who have contacted me for coaching, remember, the summer is coming. I hope you have polished your pickup boots.
So really this is just a post to let you know I am all still alive, but when I logged into my WordPress I saw a note that said ‘remember to tell that story about the potato feminist’.
It took me a while to remember what the hell I was talking about. But there’s a heart warming little story I remember from time to time that demonstrates how hard work into a skill set brings success and then that success brings an abundance mentality which makes it very hard for people to fuck with you. This is true for me in my job as well as in any romantic endeavours.
This is going back years ago. Years. Five at least, maybe ten. I was on a date with a girl. We were in coffee shop. I’d picked her up with Matt C from the 3 Bromigos… I may have been with Bodi and Krauser. I don’t fully recall. But I’d ended up going on a coffee date with this chick. She was, admittedly, very good looking.
We were on this date and I’d said something about modern women being careless with their femininity. Drinking too much, smoking and when they hit 30 they look like potatoes. What do you expect when you smash the Chardonnay for the best part of a decade?
She at first agreed. She said that English women in particular drink too much. I then said:
‘They copy the men, but men’s bodies can take alcohol better than a woman’s, so there is a heavier price to pay for girls who booze’.
Then she looked at me and said: ‘That’s sexist’.
To which I said. ‘I don’t really know about all that. I know doctors warn than women can’t handle as much alcohol as men’.
She then said ‘well… it’s childish to say all women are potatoes’.
So at this point I find myself on the verge of a pissing contest with some 24 year old skirt. How do I handle it? Hold my frame? Reframe my position? Change the subject? Make a joke out of it? Reason with her? Point out I didn’t say ‘all’ women?
Nah, I just leave. Just leave it. Not in a huff. Just calm and cool. Cary Grant. I just looked at my watch and said ‘that’s cool, look, it’s getting on. Do you mind if I shoot’. I stood up, left some money on the table and walked out.
Any sign of politically motivated aggravation and I treat it like a big red flag – not a shit test. I can handle a shit test. But a millennial’s pseudo political whining… could you imagine if I slept with a feminist and she found this blog?
So anyway. I just left. Plenty more fish in the sea. But the funny part of this story is that around one minute after leaving the coffee shop I saw a really hot chick bopping down the street, under the cover of the trees by the park. Floppy hat, well dressed. So I motored over.
I was in set not three minutes and as luck would have it, she was up for going for a coffee. So I took her to the coffee shop I’d just left. I’d totally forgotten about the previous date. When I arrived the former date was still in there. At first I panicked. I’d totally forgotten about the previous date and now I’d rocked up with another chick, surely there’d be some kind of scene? But I had to just grab my balls and brazen it out.
And there I was, not five minutes after being chased away by some piece of skirt who thought her shit didn’t stink, I was back in the same coffee shop with another chick, just as hot, only this one wasn’t calling me out for imagined social crimes.
See the thing is, at some point, you have to realise that a cool fucker is rarer than a hot chick. I’m worth my weight in gold and she.. she is literally replaceable in five minutes if you have the balls to just approach girls and take your chances. She doesn’t hold the cards, I do. This isn’t a gambit, or a mindset to tell yourself before you head out to crank some sets. It’s just the way it is if you have done the hard work and invested in yourself. If you’re cool, you’re genuinely the bomb. If she can’t see it then that’s fine but you don’t need to surrender your position at the head of the table over it.
I like to think she learnt her lesson. I like to think she realised she didn’t have quite as strong a hand as she assumed she did and that the next time she was on a date with a rock star, she maybe doesn’t chase him away for the sake of exaggerated outrage. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but I am pretty sure it took her longer than 5 minutes too replace me at her table.