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It’s Hard to Be Friends with Boys Who Want to Be More

·668 words·4 mins

Harry: You realize, of course, that we can never be friends.

Sally: Why not?

Harry: What I’m saying is — and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form — is that men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.

Sally: That’s not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved.

Harry: No you don’t.

Sally: Yes I do.

Harry: No you don’t.

Sally: Yes I do.

Harry: You only think you do.

Sally: You say I’m having sex with these men without my knowledge?

Harry: No, what I’m saying is they all want to have sex with you.

Sally: They do not.

Harry: Do too.

Sally: They do not.

Harry: Do too.

Sally: How do you know?

Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.

Sally: So you’re saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?

Harry: No, you pretty much want to nail ’em too.

Sally: What if they don’t want to have sex with you?

Harry: Doesn’t matter because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.

Sally: Well, I guess we’re not going to be friends then.

Harry: Guess not.

Sally: That’s too bad. You were the only person that I knew in New York.

When Harry Met Sally

Memes Are How They Get You

“Who you texting?” she says.

I tell her.

“Oh no,” she says. “Be careful with him. He’s Mr. Thirsty at the moment.”

“I’m just thanking him for the Godzilla memes he sent,” I say. What can I say? I’m a sucker for kaiju.

“That’s how they get you,” she says.

“Get me?”

“Sending you cute memes. He thinks he has a _shot _with you,” she says.

“But I told him it’s not gonna happen. I’ve said it… three times now?”

“What did you say exactly?” she said.

“Oh that he’s a great guy and all — ”

“Oh no,” she grumbles.

“–but that I just don’t think of him that way.”

“Yet,” she adds.

“Not ever!” I say. “I didn’t say ‘yet.’”

“Maybe you didn’t say it,” she says, “but he added it in his head.”

I sigh. “How can you be so sure?”

“I just know these things,” she says.

“I thought I was pretty clear,” I say.

“Doesn’t matter. Hope springs eternal.”

I sigh. “I hope you’re wrong.”


A few days later, it sits there on my phone. _So I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner? _

I shake my head. _As friends? _I write back.

There’s a long pause. And then, Sure.

But further plans fail to materialize for this friendly dinner.


I just want you to know, he writes. _That I respect you and your friendship. I’m not looking for anything more because I know that’s not what you want. _

Thanks, I write back.  Maybe she was wrong after all when she called him Mr. Thirsty.

_But you know… if you’d ever like to be more than friends, I’d certainly be open to that. _

I thank him for his honesty and sigh.

Cilantro, An Acquired Taste

“It’s almost as though men think they’re like cilantro,” she says.

“Like cilantro?”

“They expect you to have to develop a taste for them. Maybe they come off as gross at first. Soapy. Overpowering.”

“But one day you wake up and realize you’re yelling at the Chipotle worker because they’re not in the rice?” I say.

She laughs. “Something like that. They figure it’s a ‘no’ for now. That their best shot is to become an acquired taste.”

I shake my head. “That’s pretty depressing.”

“Well, it has to work sometimes. Just often enough to keep the hope alive.”

I nod. “I did hate cilantro the first time I had it.”

“Me too.”



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