Instead of being bummed for a while and maybe throwing on some Taylor Swift for an afternoon, I am paralyzed by a heartache much more appropriate for the end of a long-term relationship than a five-date fling.
I always thought of PUAs as nightclub prowlers, dressed like they rummaged through a clown’s closet, decked out in Ed Hardy, looking like a cross between Steven Tyler and The Situation from “Jersey Shore.”
Languages are not neutral; it’s not so much that I am a different person in English, but the language I have at my disposal does influence the way I speak and interact with people, and the way they see me.
The point is this: the scariest part of a nascent relationship isn’t what he thinks of your bedroom (pink as it may be). It’s that looming cloud of rejection. What if I want him and he doesn’t want me??