Four old-timers were playing their weekly game of golf, and one remarked how nice it would be to wake up on Christmas morning, roll out of bed and without an argument go directly to the golf course, meet his buddies and play a round.
His buddies all chimed in and said, “Let’s do it! We’ll make it a priority, figure out a way and meet here early Christmas morning.”
Months later, that special morning arrives, and there they are on the golf course.
The first guy says, “Boy this game cost me a fortune! I bought my wife such a diamond ring that she can’t take her eyes off it.”
Number 2 guy says, “I spent a ton, too. My wife is at home planning the cruise I gave her. She was up to her eyeballs in brochures.”
Number 3 guy says “Well my wife is at home admiring her new car, reading the manual.”
They all turned to the last guy in the group who is staring at them like they have lost their minds.
“I can’t believe you all went to such expense for this golf game.
I slapped my wife on the вuтт and said, ‘Well ваве, Merry Christmas! it’s a great morning for sеx or golf ‘ and she said, “Take a sweater..”
The answer is simple: you did.
See, if you think back, really hard, you might vaguely remember a Platonic guy pal who always seemed to want to spend time with you. He’d tag along with you when you went shopping, stop by your place for a movie when you were lonely but didn’t feel like going out, or even sit there and hold you while you sobbed and told him about how horribly the (other) guy that you were fсuкing treated you.
At the time, you probably joked with your girlfriends about how he was a little puppy dog, always following you around, trying to do things to get you to pay attention to him. They probably teased you because they thought he had a crush on you. Given that his behavior was, admittedly, a little pathetic, you vehemently denied having any romantic feelings for him, and buttressed your position by claiming that you were “just friends.” Besides, he totally wasn’t your type. I mean, he was a little too short, or too bald, or too fат, or too poor, or didn’t know how to dress himself, or basically be or do any of the things that your tall, good-looking, fit, rich, stylish boyfriend at the time pulled off with such ease. Eventually, your Platonic buddy drifted away, as your relationship with the boyfriend got more serious and spending time with this other guy was, admittedly, a little weird, if you werent dating him. More time passed, and the boyfriend eventually cheated on you, or became boring, or you realized that the things that attracted you to him weren’t the kinds of things that make for a good, long-term relationship. So, now, you’re single again, and after having tried the bar scene for several months having only encountered players and dоuсhе bags, you wonder, “What happened to all the nice guys?” Well, once again, you did. You ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy. You laughed at his consideration and resented his devotion. You valued the aloof boyfriend more than the attentive “just-a-” friend. Eventually, he took the hint and moved on with his life. He probably came to realize, one day, that women aren’t really attracted to guys who hold doors open; or make dinners just because; or buy you a Christmas gift that you mentioned, in passing, that you really wanted five months ago; or listen when you’re upset; or hold you when you cry. He came to realize that, if he wanted a woman like you, he’d have to act more like the boyfriend that you had. He probably cleaned up his look, started making some money, and generally acted like more of an аsshоlе than he ever wanted to be. Fact is, now, he’s probably getting laid, and in a way, your ultimate rejection of him is to thank for that. And I’m sorry that it took the complete absence of “nice guys” in your life for you to realize that you missed them and wanted them. Most women will only have a handful of nice guys stumble into their lives, if that. So, if you’re looking for a nice guy, here’s what you do: 1.) Build a time machine. 2.) Go back a few years and pull your head out of your аss. 3.) Take a look at what’s right in front of you and grab ahold of it. I suppose the other possibility is that you STILL don’t really want a nice guy, but you feel the social pressure to at least appear to have matured beyond your infantile taste in men. In which case, you might be in luck, because the nice guy you claim to want has, in reality, shed his nice guy mantle and is out there looking to unleash his cynicism and resentment onto someone just like you. If you were five years younger. So, please: either stop misrepresenting what you want, or own up to the fact that you’ve fcuked yourself over. You’re getting older, after all. It’s time to excise the bullsh1t and deal with reality. You didn’t want a nice guy then, and he certainly doesn’t fсuкing want you, now. Sincerely, A Recovering Nice Guy.
(Sven and Ollie are mainstays of Norwegian and Swedish jokes, often told in Minnesota and northern climates. They typically are not the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree.) …
…
Sven’s down at the feed store and runs across Ollie.
Sven says, “Ollie, good to see you! How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“And what about your wife, I haven’t seen her in awhile. How’s she doing, Ollie?”
“Fine.”
Sven says, “I heard you bought her a piano, didn’t you? That must be real fine. How’d she like it?”
Ollie answers, “Fine. But I sold the piano and bought her a clarinet.”
“A clarinet? Why would you give her a clarinet instead of a piano?”
Ollie glares at Sven a bit, then says, “Because with a clarinet, she can’t sing!”
The Teacher asked young Patrick Murphy:
“What do you do at Christmas time?
Patrick addressed the class:
“Well Ms. Jones, me and my twelve brothers and sisters go to midnight mass and we sing hymns; then we come home very late and we put mince pies by the back door and hang up our stockings. Then all excited, we go to bed and wait for Father Christmas to come with all our toys.
“Very nice Patrick,” she said. “Now Jimmy Brown, what do you do at Christmas?”
Well, Ms. Jones, me and my sister also go to church with Mom and Dad and we sing carols and we get home ever so late. We put cookies and milk by the chimney and we hang up our stockings. We hardly sleep, waiting for Santa Claus to bring our presents.
Realizing there was a Jewish boy in the class and not wanting to leave him out of the discussion, she asked, “Now, Isaac Cohen, what do you do at Christmas?”
Isaac said, “Well, it’s the same thing every year…. Dad comes home from the office. We all pile into the Rolls Royce; then we drive to Dad’s toy factory. When we get inside, we look at all the empty shelves… And begin to sing:
“What A Friend We Have In Jesus.” Then we all go to the Bahamas .”