It can be a pain in the ass (quite literally if you end up being blind drunk) to go out and meet (what you think) is the girl of your dreams and then it turns out . . .
She is a HE.
These days, surgery and makeup are insanely effective. Just look at this shit:
OK, so at the very least this woman did actually have a vagina as an end result meaning that things could be worse . . .
When you walk into a bar and meet this hot, funny, smart woman. She got everything in the bag, but that is just the problem. She has actually got everything – including the extra bits that we heterosexual guys simply are not looking for.
NOTE: If something is too good to be true . . .
It usually is.
These days, transgender is a thing. Transsexual, transvestite, whatever, but the problem is telling the difference between a woman who used to be a man or a man dressed as a woman can be a potentially confusing and frightening experience for the average straight man. It is all good and well being open minded and shiz, having the capability to consider these people’s feelings, but what about us guys? Not in any way transphobic (yes, this is a word) each to their own and all – just some people wish to and have a right to know before ‘kiss and tell.’
There was that time where you stumbled into a place and landed at the bar. The guy next to you offers to buy you a drink, and you are like “Hey I will take that, cheers!”
Then he compliments your shirt that you bought at the Dollar Store, and you’re like “Whoa!” Something’s not right here. Look around and . . .
Aawww, shiit! You are in a fucking gay bar. Outta’ here.
At least with the gays, they are men. And this is obvious.
Although this may seem insane to you and you insist that “Of course, I could tell the difference!”
A few jars later might say otherwise and like always it is better to be safe than sorry.
So, what are the warning signs?
If she is a ten but you is a 5.
Alarm bells may not start ringing immediately. In fact, you are too busy giving yourself a pat on the back. Hate to put this to you, but slow down son. Questions at this point are needed to be asked.
She drives a fucking Mercedes-Benz, and it is manual transmission. Day-ahm! Although this looks a little more feminine than a BMW – it is still just a bad boy car with a gear stick. (See what I just did there?)
A billionaires’ daddy’s girl wouldn’t know how to start this thing, so you could rule that one out.
Now take a closer look at where you just met. What kind of hang out exactly was that spot? Sports bar? Thought so. Maybe ask her if she would like to play pool before y’all start digit switching. If she wins easily, here is another checkbox ticked.
Still not convinced?
Try taking a look at what she is drinking! Oh, PBR. Huh? Hmmm . . .
Favorite music = rap.
Now you are beginning to wonder.
She whispers in your ear, breathing softly on your neck, now she knows how to get a guy all worked up.
Should you ask THE question? What if you are wrong?
More so, what if you are right!
The bar, the drink, the car, the music, he knowhow . . .
Shit dude! You could be going home . . . With a guy!
Do yourself a favor and bail.
It’s better to find out by text later than to uncover the junk in the trunk.