ScanIAm wrote:
Bogie: Yeah, sure. You think she's great, huh, kid? The girl of your dreams? A geeky girl who's into technology and who just happens to look totally hot?
Guess again, kid, it's not gonna be a long stroll down the beach at sunset holding hands while you talk about beta software. Oh sure, it'll start out that way. It always starts out that way. But then one day she's nagging you about why did you put her Juicy Couture cashmere hoodie in the wash, what did you do with her Jimmy Choos, why did you use up the last of her $75 bottle of conditioner. Nag, nag, nag. Yeah, after talking about CSS and and PHP for ten minutes, the real Amanda Congdon's gonna show up. And it's not gonna be pretty.
Then, she's gonna turn YOU into her own little improvement project. Little by little. Couldn't you get a decent haircut? Lose those ugly shoes? Talk about something other than beta software? Don't embarass her in front of her friends. There's stuff other than computers, you know.
Then one day, after you bought the cool shoes and got the decent haircut and learned to keep up with her shallow, sophisticated New York friends, you'll be waiting for her at a train station, and instead of seeing her, you'll get a letter saying she can't go with you or see you ever again, and you must not ask why. And it's gonna be signed, "Love, Amanda XOXO." Probably with a little cartoon heart drawing too. Then you're gonna spend the rest of your days in a low-rent saloon somewhere drinking sloe gin and cheap bourbon until your liver turns into a giant, festering hunk of scar tissue and your portal vein explodes and you die while projectile vomiting your own gin-scented blood all over the barroom floor.
Dames are all the same. Dump them before they dump you. That's what I say.