My biggest competition

In those fantastic books such as "Men are from Uranus, Women are from Planet Bitch" and "He's not into You cuz You Ugly", the central theme is that men have more difficulty with communication than women. That's bullshit, your honor. Guys are always on the damn phone.

I always thought I had to compete with young hotties with fake tits and a penchant for guys with girlfriends. Nope, it's call waiting. It's another way of saying, nyah-nyah-nyah, this call is much more important than yo-u-u...ha ha, you got dead air...and as the seconds turn to mintues I idly wonder about the waiting period to register a dangerous weapon.

If we're on a date and he takes me out to dinner my concern isn't if the waitress is hot. It's, oh my God, his phone is ringing. And HE'S ANSWERING IT?!? So I sit there: me, him, the bread basket and the fucking phone pressed lovingly to his ear as he lavishes words and saliva into its mouthpiece. It's at that point I want to stand up, throw a stale roll at his head, grab the phone and stab the little fucker's heart out with my stiletto. But instead I sulk, pout, give monosyllabic answers for the remainder of the evening and refuse to kiss him goodnight.

Huh. Maybe I have a problem with communication.