Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: When They Threaten To Beat Someone Up On Our Behalf

What we tell you:

Whoa there, Peter Cetera, hold your horses. I get that you wanna defend my honor and all, but I didn't bring enough money on our date to bail you out of jail. It's fine; you don't need to kick his ass over this. It's not that big of a deal that some guy by the dj booth bumped into me and spilled my drink. It sucks that he wouldn't apologize but there's no need to resort to fisticuffs over it. Let's just get out of here. Fuck it. I know a great little spot down the street. We'll just go there. Come here *grab his hand and leave the bar*

What we really think:

Swoon x a million. This guy is so amped about me, he is willing to throw down. That's insane. And awesome. And hot. It's insanely awesome and hot. Hanging out with him is like having my own personal bouncer, but he doesn't have to spend his weekend nights sitting on a stool by the entrance of a rowdy bar. He listens to God Help the Girl, he wears glasses, and he would drop a guy who disrespects me in a heartbeat. I...I...I...think I love him.

Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: When They Threaten To Beat Someone Up On Our Behalf

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Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: When You Scarf Down A Hoagie

What we tell you:

What are you, an animal? Can't you eat a sandwich like a human being? Watching you attack this hoagie is like watching a lion feed on a gazelle on the Discovery Channel. You have mustard all over you. I'm barely two bites into my sandwich and you've already wolfed yours down. You look like a caveman, all hunched over and grunting, jamming that hoagie in your mouth. Why am I dating such a pig?

What we really think:

It's kinda hot how my man has such a healthy appetite. I wonder what else he has an appetite for. Rawr. I wish I was that hoagie. His love hoagie. Did I just say the phrase, "love hoagie" in my head? Haha. Oh man, I think I just grossed myself out.

Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: When You Scarf Down A Hoagie

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Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: When You Load The Jukebox Up With Grunge Songs

What we tell you:

Pearl Jam? Really? Why don't you just play the entire Singles soundtrack while you're at it. Wait, is this "Would?" Oh, you totally are playing the Singles soundtrack. You know, just because it's on the jukebox doesn't mean that you have to play it. Everyone in the bar is looking at you and shooting you daggers with their eyes. Well, I don't blame 'em. You're forcing them to listen to a 9 minute song called "Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns." If anyone asks, I don't know you.

What we really think:

Around 4 and a half minutes into this grunge opus, I saw the light. "This is my kinda love/ It's the kind that moves on/ It's unkind and leaves me alone/ Yes it does." I forgot how much I love this song and the entire bar should be thanking you for letting them hear this '90s gem for free. I think I'm going to download this song when I get home so I can rock out to it when I walk to work in the morning.

[Update: This post was partly inspired by my friend Andrew, who is known for his grunge-loving ways. Well, I just received word that he eloped with his girlfriend and my good friend, Mikki. Little known fact: I played a part in their matchmaking. Mikki confided to me that she had a crush on Andrew. One night, I blabbed to him that I knew a secret about him but that I couldn't tell him. He bought me a beer in exchange for the information, which I gladly accepted. Judas had his silver pieces, I had a Mad Elf from Johnny Brendas; we all have our price. "Mikki has a crush on you. Hit that shit, yo." With my encouragement, he made a move on her. And, they got married today. It seems that my Cupid-ness now has a proven track record. So, in a way, we all win. Congrats to the happy couple! I love you both very much.]

Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: When You Load The Jukebox Up With Grunge Songs

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Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: Getting A Hickey

What we tell you:

Great. Now I have to go to work with this huge welt on my neck. Didn't you listen? I have an important meeting with my boss tomorrow. No, dabbing concealer on it won't help. It looks like I'm in the beginning stages of leprosy. What kind of woman goes to work with a goddamn hickey on her neck? It's the summer; I can't even wear a turtleneck. Why did you do this to me? What are we, in sixth grade here? Stop laughing. It's not funny. Ugh! *huff and puff around his room as I collect my things*

What we really think as soon as we step outside of your apartment:

Smile smile smile smile smile high-five. I HAVE A HICKEY, BITCHES! It kinda looks like I got bit by a vampire or something. I'm like a True Blood outtake. I never use the word vixen because I think it's kinda corny, but I totally feel like a vixen right now. Oh man. I think I'm gonna stop and grab some ice cream to celebrate my hickeyhood. Hickeyhood! I think I just made up a word. Haha. I can't wait to check it out when I get home.

Things We Tell Boys We Hate But Secretly Don't: Getting A Hickey

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