I had some money to burn from my birthday and graduation, so I made a quick visit to Glorietta to go shopping for some shoes. Unlike most women, I’m not a shoe person. I rarely ever buy them and when I do, I go for something expensive, comfortable, and durable. I’ve spent all my college life walking around in boring yet practical Birkinstocks. Now that I’m an adult about to be shackled by the golden chains of capitalism, I may as well dress tastefully so I can look presentable to the HR blokes and get some damn comfortable cuffs to get chained with.

I already had a clear idea of what I wanted to buy: brown leather slingback sandals. Armed with cash and a limited amount of time, I made a beeline for Rustan’s where I was sure to find what I wanted. I felt terribly out of place. I’m not used to being surrounded by high fashion and so many extravagant, useless things. From the corner of my eye I could see the fashionistas giving me the once over and wondering what a ratty little thing like me was doing in the most expensive place in Glorietta. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible, but not without my shoes.

As I looked at the merchandise available to me, it occurred to me how shoe shopping is so much like dating. There I was, willing to spend any amount of money on the perfect pair of shoes. But the perfect pair is the most fucking elusive of them all. I’d pick one up that looks attractive and hand it over to the saleslady to get me its pair, only to discover that they no longer carry size 6 for that style. Or when they do find its pair and I slip them on, the shoe turns out to be too tight, too high, or just too damn uncomfortable.

How can a silly feminine thing like shoe shopping be an analogy for dating, you ask? Put it this way. I have a clear idea of the kind of guy I want to date and possibly get into a serious, long-term relationship with. I’m willing to put any amount of emotional investment, should I happen to meet that guy. I’m not actively looking for anyone but every now and then, I stumble upon someone who seems interested and interesting enough. So I talk to him and get to know him, only to find out that he already has a girlfriend. As for the single ones, the appalling behavior they’ve shown me would put 13-year old boys to shame. *cough*emotional maturity*cough*

So here’s my unsolicited advice to the single man looking to win a girl over, courtesy of my own experiences in the dating pool:

Calling her a baby when she asks you to not hit on her friends is definitely not the way to a woman’s heart.

Letting her know that you are a manipulative bastard does not make you quirky and endearing. It just makes you a CREEP.

Finally, “I love you” means shit. Grow some balls and SHOW her that you love her, for fuck’s sake.

*hyperventilates*

After spending an hour walking around Rustan’s, I grew increasingly frustrated and considered abandoning the shopping trip. Perhaps the perfect pair of shoes only existed in my head. I decided to give the rest of the mall a shot before meeting up with my friend, so I left Rustan’s and walked around Glorietta.

Lo and behold, Naturalizer had exact pair that I had in mind.

Now it’d be ridiculous and illogical to make the conclusion that persistence and a lot of searching led me to the perfect pair of shoes, therefore the same tactic will land me the ideal guy. Please. Men are not like shoes. They are human beings, just like you and me and your parents. However, all evidence points that underneath all that porma, they’re actually vicious beasts with an uncanny knack for walking all over female hearts.

I shall now leave you all with wise words from a woman named PJ Harvey. Enjoy, angry single female adults.

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