Teenaged girls are attracted to Bad Boys, often fatally so. You know who I’m talking about. The guy whom your parents regard as reckless and an incipient criminal. He drinks and drives drunk. He smokes or chews. He’s been kicked out of school several times. He’s been caught stealing a car or maybe busting into a 7/11. He cracks wise with everyone. He thinks it’s cool to pack a gun so he can show it off. He is fun, fun, fun. Everybody seems to love him, though he is often quite cruel to the retinue of sycophants who follow him around like ducklings.
–Oh, yes: And he treats you like crap. But you love him still.
Personally, I think this pernicious attraction to Bad Boys is a genetic trait of all human females. Down through the millennia, we humans have evolved behaviors that give us the best chance for survival. Part of a woman’s survival is having enough children to help with chores in the family cave and to take care of the tribe’s geezers. But to do that, she needs a strong and capable man to bring home the bacon, as it were.
However, the adolescent female brain is not yet fully developed so its judgements are not yet perfected. She cannot yet see the differences that distinguish a Bad Boy from a truly capable adult male. Consequently, she misperceive the Bad Boy’s thugishness and brutality for strength and capability.
Also, being a teenaged female, she seeks an inordinate amount of adoration and affirmation. Bad Boys tend to be charming, and so initially, they shower her with it. However, as time goes on, things change. Soon the Bad Boy is full of sneers and putdowns. Criticism and faultfinding are the rule of the day. Perversely, the fewer positive things the Bad Boy gives her, the more ardently she strives to please him and the more obsequious, servile and self-abasing she will become.
But most young ladies grow up. Soon enough, most young women will see the Bad Boy as a repellant lout with no future. A loser. And probably, an unregenerate bar fly and drug addict to boot. She will shake her head in wonder at just what the hell she ever saw in the clod.
Her Bad Boy, like most of them, will go on to be an unhappy member of the nation’s underclass of service station attendants and latrine cleaners. A lot of Bad Boys will do even worse: Almost all the men behind bars were and are, Bad Boys – did you know that, my sweet? Probably not.
So my advice: Avoid Bad Boys. Oh, true, all you girls might love them but recognize that these guys are going full speed down a dead end road and, believe me, you do not want to go along for the ride. Impose a little discipline on yourselves and avoid them. Then start checking out the Nice Boys.
Let me reprise the traits of Nice Boys so you’ll know what to look for. See if you might want to have one of your own.
First, Nice Boys abound. They can be found working at jobs that pay well and have open-ended futures. They often own their own homes. They eat good food, drink good booze and take vacations to such places as Venice, Italy. Nice Boys often hang out in symphony halls, art galleries, libraries, museums and so on – houses of worship too. Look for them in these places.
Nice boys do not have pointed heads nor wear coke-bottle glasses. They do not have dandruff and smell funny. In fact, many are strikingly good looking – especially when compared to Bad Boys with their stained teeth and crud under their fingernails. Nice Boys do not fart at the dinner table.
Nice Boys will likely have college degrees and come from extended families of other Nice Boys (and Nice Girls) who act as networks, helping the Nice Boy connect with powerful and influential people.
As a bonus, Nice Boys are often good in bed. They’ll take time to work their women rather then just get their rocks off and go to sleep.
So, young ladies, in your own self-interest, ditch the slutty clothes, pull out the studs out of your faces, wash off the paint and grow UP! Then scout out a Nice Boy, for if you don’t, and if you stick with the Bad Boys, by the time you’re fifty, you’ll be a blowsy old piece of trailer trash living off food stamps and wondering what the hell happened to her life.
A word to the wise . . .