The poser


A recent UBC study found that women prefer brooding Heathcliffe types as a opposed to outgoing, smiley-faced men.

If this study rang true in politics, Jack Layton would never get the women’s vote, and Stephen Harper would have girls gyrating in their chairs. And don’t even get me started on Gilles Duceppe  — poor Gilles Duceppe — whom I have never seen smile once.

GD would be a dream date on Lava Love.

I wonder where science nobs conducted this study.

In a bar? Coffee shop? Train station? The language lab?

It’s my experience that women are not attracted to brooders, they are attracted to posers.

Posers are guys who spend a lot of time on their hair, their choice of clothing and booties. They have good teeth and have a choice head of hair.

They aren’t necessarily hunky guys, a lot of them are rather waiflike, with dark eyes and pouty mouths.

Sometimes they wear glasses, but not always.

Posers rarely say anything, so you never know what they’re thinking.

They are often secretive and dodgy.

Posers are never available, always busy, but girls are never sure what they are doing.

The fantasies take over.

Perhaps he’s with another girl.

Perhaps he’s flying off to Vancouver to go clubbing.

The pose drives a smitten girl nuts.

Girls who get hung up on posers often become obsessed with them, to the point of stalking them to find out what they are really like.

They’ll find out where the poser lives, then drive around their house to see if there’s another girl there.

The stalker rarely has company, and it’s never clear what the poser is doing at home because most of the lights are out.

Sometimes, the girl sees the poser padding to the kitchen and back to some sort of lair.

What is he doing in there, she wonders.

Posers are never available on the telephone, or for texting.

So what is the poser doing?

Living in my basement playing video games.

Mystery solved!

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