Maybe it’s an extension of adolescent slumber party fantasies, but what is it with 20-something guys always assuming I’m constantly surrounded by a pussy posse? Without fail, several times a week, some variation of this text message appears in my inbox: "What r u and your girls up to tonight?" I look at the phone. I look around my empty apartment. What girls? Where? Is he referring to my two breasts, Vanna White and Sally Jessy Raphael? Has my cell phone gotten confused for Heidi Fleiss’? I don’t get it. “You and your girls should hang.” “Come out with your girls.” “Are you and your girls out?” At any given moment, the odds are very good that I’m not with a gaggle of girls. My life is not a fucking episode of Entourage, gentlemen. And, like most nighttime text messages, this one is unlikely to result in anything satisfactory for anyone involved. I’ll receive the you/girls request and: A: I’m already with 2+ female friends. We have made plans and we're not changing them for you.

B: I’m in mixed company. A pre-party, perhaps. Then you’ve forced me to wonder – “by “girls,” does he mean “friends?” Are guys invited as well? What if they’re platonic guy friends? How about if they’re gay? And furthermore, what if I’m with girls who are lesbians, but not in the make-out-with-one-another-in-front of you kind of way? You’ve piqued my curiosity, but I don’t like typing long text messages, so you’ll never hear back. C: I’m alone. I have no plans. I would like to see you, but now I feel like a huge loser because I have none of these requisite girls. I’ll iChat you tomorrow about how it was too loud to hear my phone in the packed, super-cool club. D: I get your text message, but since this is the first time you’ve tried to contact me since we went out that one time 5 months ago, I have no idea who you are and I’ll assume you’re one of the pushy Persian guys I met in Hollywood the other night. There is one surefire way of getting me (and hell, I’ll throw in the girls) to come out with you. And that, my friends, is orchestrating some sort of vehicle (yours or otherwise) to come pick me/us up. It’s the secret weapon. In this city, no one turns down a free ride.

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