Okay, this isn’t one of those I-can-say-it-because-I-am-one kinda things. It’s a bona fide fact. Women. Are. Bitches.

Sorry. I know that one-word sentence shit is old. Let me start over.

Women are bitches. What’s more, I can prove it. No. I can.

So, last night I was out with my girls. We went to a local pub. Somehow it came up that one of our company was experiencing a dry spell … ya know, sexually speaking. In fact, “dry spell” doesn’t really … fully … describe the magnitude of the situation. I’ve got two words for ya. Nine. Months.

Yeeeaaaaaaahahahaha.

Now, in case you were wondering, this friend … we’ll call her Melissa … is a little hottie. For real. The dry spell can’t be readily explained in any of the usual ways.

The rest of us, naturally, sought (ever so subtly) to understand what in the name of … Right. Understanding (and subtlety) soon gave way, however, to straight-up entreaties to go out and get laid. Names were suggested. All were summarily discounted as inappropriate in one way or another.

What is that you say? Look around in the bar?

[Insert rousing speach about the perils of one-night stands here.]

Yeah, so, we got there eventually. Thing is, the place was filled with what can only be described as the least attractive guys ever collected into one darkened, beer-serving establishment. We had, as it happened, been bemoaning this fact for a good portion of the evening.

Nine months. That was our rallying cry.

When Melissa went to the loo, Kiki and company set out to find a suitable an acceptable specimen. About 20 minutes later, we realized Melissa still hadn’t returned from the ladies, and one of us was dispatched to retrieve her. Melissa bounced back to the table, wearing an up-to-no-good grin.

Apparently, “Justin” was a skydiver. He wanted to take Melissa on a jump. They argued about who would get to be on top. It seemed promising.

“I’ll never in my life go skydiving, but I was like, ‘I’ll go and I get to be on top.’ He was like, ‘I have to go on top.’ I was like, ‘I’m on top … there’s gonna be something between me and the ground, dude.’ He was cute, right?”

The friend who fetched Melissa got to meet the specimen. Melissa looked to her for confirmation.

“Oh, yeah.” (Said with much head nodding.)

Obviously, the consensus among us was: Giddyup.

Walking home, the fetching friend and I mulled over the likelihood that anonymous, streak-breaking sex would be had.

Me: I don’t think she’s gonna go through with it.
FF: I think she will … why not?
Me: She was sayin she wanted to wait until it was special and shit. You don’t get from that to “Ride me, Justin” in three hours.
FF: Yeah, plus he was pretty ugly.
Me: I thought you said he was cute?!?!
FF: No. Not at all.

That, my friends, is why women are bitches. They’ll knowingly send you off to shag a fug. And they’ll call it being nice.