Ode to the nice girl.

This is my tribute to the nice girls.

To the nice girls who are overlooked. Who become friends and nothing more. Who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong.

This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date. Who don't want to play mind games. Who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times.

This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either. For the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe.. Maybe this time he'll have understood.

This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention.

This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds."

This is to honour those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt.

This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This is for the girls who have to pretend it doesn't hurt because she knows that even though her friends say "you're better off without him" or "he doesn't deserve you", she knows that their words were from the heart, but they don't mend hers.

This is for the girl who poured her heart into something hoping he'd realize how much he meant to her and how much she meant to him, only to discover that she meant nothing to him all along.

This is for the girl who had followed her heart, threw away her inhibitions, thought she had triumphed over all the obstacles, only to find out that her Prince Charming had returned to his "ex-princess".

This is for all the nights she listened to every song they heard together, replayed all the times he told her he loved her, looked at every picture they had together, and thought if only she could figure out the exact moment she lost him.

This is for all the times she had told herself to be strong and let it go, only to find herself calling her bestfriend at 3 in the morning to tell her she thinks she's going crazy because he won't get out of her mind.

This is for all the bestfriends who never faltered to try and pick up their friends from off the floor to give them a hug they know they need.

This is for the countless nights they stayed up together trying to find an explanation for a "true love" gone wrong. This is for how bad it hurt coming up with no conclusion.

This is for the girl who swore to never let anyone hurt her that bad again, only to find herself falling for someone who poured salt on that wound.

For the girl who needed someone there for her after a bad break up, only to discover that months into it, he had hurt her and used her more than she had been with the previous.

This is for the many times he had walked back into her life and left, just as quick.

This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with.

This is for the ' I really like you, so let's still be friends ' comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended.
This is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those who make you cry yourself to sleep.

This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy.

This is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that night, the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear.

This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something.

This is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted.

This is for the girls who have been satisfied with too little, and who have learned never to expect anything more.
For the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over his ex, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone.

This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room, him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup.

This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you.

This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made.

Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mind games that girls love to keep them hanging.

Yet men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, compelling, interesting, intelligent, sweet and beautiful and smart girls.. Were you to give her your number and wait for her to call.. And if you were to receive a call from her the next day, and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting, and worth her time, and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend; Would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the ' stalker child ' you'd met the night prior? Who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth?

And would or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this 'nice girl' who you just cannot seem to find?

Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere.

But you're not looking for a nice girl.

You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intramural basketball game or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

So don't say you're on the look out for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take.

Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing-- we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing:
"This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a tee-shirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hung-over best friend breakfast. See through my disguise. See me."

You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances.

You don't want the nice girl... So don't say you're looking for a relationship. Relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend-- but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express.

Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running, they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy targets... The nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congratulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that race to watch and all the chocolate we can eat.