“Seriously, bro. We need to make a list. I’m tired of seeing you moping around on your period every single day. You have the most epic job in the history of the world, and that alone should make you happy, but I get it. You need the girl. We’ll get you the girl,” Tyler reassures me as he rummages through the junk drawer in my kitchen for a piece of paper and a pen.
“How’s a list going to help Charlotte fall in love with me?” I question him as he finds what he’s looking for. He smoothes out a crumpled piece of paper on my countertop and writes in big, bold letters across the top: How to Make Charlotte Bang Me.
“That is so not the purpose of this. I don’t want her to bang me,” I complain.
Tyler stares at me with one eyebrow raised.
“Okay, fine!” I relent after a few seconds of his stare-down. “That’s not the ONLY purpose. I can’t just come right out and tell her I love her; she’ll have a heart attack. We’ve known each other since birth and this is going to come out of left field. I need to figure out a way to ease her into it.”
Tyler sighs in annoyance and crosses out the last part of the title and scribbles on the paper again. He turns it around to show me.
How to Make Charlotte Bang Me Love Me. And Turn into a Giant Pussy.
“You’re such a dick.”
Tyler shrugs. “Whatev. You’re still a *. Okay, item number one …”
He pauses, tapping the end of the pen against his chin while he thinks.
“Ooooh, I’ve got it! Show her your penis,” he says aloud as he writes on the paper.
“What?! No! That is not going on the list,” I argue as I try to take the page from him.
He jerks away, rolling his eyes at me.
“This is absolutely going on the list. Chicks need to test out the merchandise before they can make a decision. Do you honestly think she’s going to love you if she thinks you might be harboring a pinky-peen in your pants?”
There’s really no use in arguing with him at this point. Tyler is going to do whatever the fuck he wants. It’s best to just humor him. It’s not like I’m ever going to really use the list so who cares?
“Fine. But it’s not going as number one.”
Tyler smiles in victory and crosses out what he wrote, moving further down the page and rewriting it with a number five in front of it.
“There. Not at the top, not at the bottom. It will give you plenty of time to work up to the showing of the penis and then plenty of time to recover after you show it to her and she starts rocking back and forth in the corner, weeping silently.”
Reaching across the counter, I punch him as hard as I can in the arm.
“Fucker! I bruise easily! What would Claire say if I told her you were abusing me?” Tyler questions as he rubs the spot on his arm where my fist connected.
“Shut up about my mother.”
“No can do. She’s going to be mine one day. You should just start calling me dad now,” he says nonchalantly.
Ever since the day he met my mother—naked—he’s been in love with her. For seven years I’ve had to endure him leering at her, making inappropriate comments, and imagining all the different ways my dad could die so he could console the grieving widow.
“I’m going to punch you right in the ball sack if you don’t shut up,” I warn him.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young man.”
I decide against beating the shit out of Tyler at this time. The faster he makes this stupid list, the faster he’ll go home—to his parents’ basement where he currently lives. No, I’m not kidding. He’s a walking, talking epitome of a guy that refuses to grow up. He has a bachelor’s degree in Japanese studies (a surefire way that he will never get a real job), works part-time at The Gap, and has never had a serious relationship.
Remind me again why I’m even thinking of taking advice from him?
“Okay, I’ve got a better idea for number one. Go shopping with her.”
He writes out his new number one while I stare at him questioningly. When he looks up after writing it down, he stares at me like I’m an idiot.
“Bro, chicks love shopping. If you go and ooh and ahh over every pair of shoes she picks up, you’ll be in her pants by the time you get to Auntie Anne’s Pretzels,” he informs me.
I don’t even bother explaining to him, yet again, that my main purpose in life isn’t to get in Charlotte’s pants. Sure, it’s something I dream about. Well, wet dream about. And the reason for my earlier Google search, but it’s not the ultimate goal. I want her to love me. I want her to see me as something other than a friend. I want her to realize that we’re soul mates.
Fuck. Maybe I am getting my period.
“Alright, item number two. Take her to The Cheesecake Factory,” he states as he continues to write.
“Why The Cheesecake Factory?”
Tyler shrugs as he taps the pen against the counter. “Chicks dig The Cheesecake Factory. It will show her that you can be all fancy and shit. Oooooh, oooooh, oooooh! Tell her she can order whatever she wants. That’s a total cool-guy move,” he tells me excitedly.
Alright, so this isn’t too bad. I can handle a day of shopping as long as I’m with Charlotte. And The Cheesecake Factory is delicious.