“See, the thing about women is this-” Charlie Kerrigan continued on in a voice that Socrates would be proud of. He paused a moment for effect, tugging his tie looser around his neck. “-Women are liars. All of them! They lie and say that it doesn’t matter how hot a bloke is, that they care about chocolate and honesty and cuddling and shite like that. But really, think about it. If you get them chocolate more than once or twice a year, they think you’ve done something horrible- in your case, you probably have. And if you tell them that those pants DO make their arses look fat, they smack you and dump you. And if you actually WANT to cuddle, they think you’re some creeper that hangs out at the back of supermarkets near the dented can section.”

 

He paused again, a thoughtful look on his face, one that was rather uncommon for anyone to see Charlie with. The boy bit his lower lip in thought and pulled his back higher onto his shoulder, now weighted down with the pounds and pounds of extra work he’d been assigned in the class he’d just left.

 

He didn’t see anything wrong with making his teacup sing sing and dance instead of turning it into a teddy bear. Teddy bears couldn’t turn obscene words into works of musical brilliance.

 

“And that’s why, of course, I get so much more action than you do,” Charlie added with a quick smirk over to his friend. It wasn’t true, obviously, as Charlie never really bothered to “get action” unless he was “in love”… which usually happened once or twice a semester.

 

“I’m just too hot, really. It’s okay if you feel bad. I understand. So do my washboard abs.”