“You seem like a person I shouldn’t leave my pets with, like, over the weekend. That’s just the vibe you’re putting off.”
I knew I shouldn’t have come out tonight. You know when you’re dog-tired and no amount of music or booze is going to resuscitate you? That any attempt at socializing is just going to be like beating a dead horse, only you’re both the flogger and the horse, and the poor person watching you just has to stand there and try to make sense of the whole mess? Well that’s what tonight is. And now I’m standing next to Negger #1, listening to his misguided appraisal of me as a non-maternal cat killer.
“Yeah, you seem like the type that would just get drunk and forget to feed it or something. I for sure wouldn’t leave my cat with you. HEY, DUDE! WOULD YOU LEAVE YOUR CAT WITH THIS GIRL?”
If you’re unfamiliar with the term, according to Urban Dictionary, the ever-reputable source of all things unsourceable, “negging” is described as “low grade insults meant to undermine the self-confidence of a woman so she might be more vulnerable to your advances.” Neggers are basically manipulative, psychological terrorists, preying on a woman’s vulnerability in the sick hope that such strategy might get them laid. Growing up, these would have been the second graders who slugged you on the arm or pushed your head into the water fountain just to show their affection (double points for a chipped tooth!).
Being a person of reasonable confidence and good humor, I have never understood the effectiveness of negging (with the exception of one particular individual who, in addition to being wickedly mean, was also exceptionally good looking and pretty hilarious). The fact that this guy’s version of flirting is telling me he think I’m an untrustworthy alcoholic does not make me want to have sex with him; it makes me want to punch him in the face. And the vibe I’ve probably been putting out from the offset isn’t that he shouldn’t leave his pet with me over the weekend; it’s that I think he’s a little bit dumb and a lot bit stoned and I really don’t have the energy to invest in either type of person tonight. Maybe that’s where the latent murderous rage vibes he’s feeling are coming from.
At a certain point, I am saved by his friend with the ‘70s porno handlebar mustache, who gamely plays Good Cop to Negger #1’s Bad Cop. “Aw, she looks so pet-friendly, come on!” I quickly ruin everything, however, when I make some exhaustion-inspired joke about having the fingers of little children in my backpack, divined from what inspiration I could not tell you.
I knew I should have stayed home tonight.
Plus what men have cats?