In Someone's Good Graces

It's days like these that I thank God that I'm a flaming faggot.

Surprisingly Graceless Grace - usually the niggling pebble in my shoe - is only partly to blame for the revelation. As a matter of fact our ordinarily abrasive Grace hasn't seen fit to drive me up the wall in ages. With the Big Puddle thankfully acting as a dependable buffer between us, our decade-long relationship has been undergoing a brief freinassance with nary a bitter quarrel instigated by either side.

Which leads me to the epiphany above. Blighted with misfortune in her search for love, Grace has been our very own Carrie Bradshaw come to life. Super-scum-magnet we termed her once and that has turned out to be quite the unfortunate self-fulfilling prophecy. From hotheaded wife-beating Chris Browns to fearful doddering dandies, she has seen all the freaks on the horrific merry-go-round of dating disasters.


Grace : I like bad boys and I cannot lie.
But nothing has quite prepared her for the latest beau in her string of screwball suitors.

Grace : He's nearly perfect.
Paul : How so?
Grace : He dresses really well, calls when he says he will call, picks me up on time etc. Generally a perfect gentleman. Even sent me flowers for Valentine.
Paul : Sounds like a real catch. So what's the problem?
Grace : I don't know! I think he is too nice.
Paul : There is no such thing as too nice.
Grace : There is. He is too nice.
Paul : You'd prefer if he hauled off and walloped you like your ex?
Grace : Umm...
Paul : WTF.

Obviously a bit of bad boy misbehaviour is fine by Grace. Perhaps another serious black bruise over her swollen eye would be nice as a reminder.


Puzzled by her incomprehensible logic, I asked around and found out from the rest of my girlfriends that it's actually true. Turns out for the ladies there really is a thing as too nice. Violent physical battery would be going wildly overboard - though still acceptable for some - but apparently it wouldn't be a bad thing to stand your date up, behave like a douchebag or forget anniversaries once in a while.

The poor Mr Nice Guys are really getting the short shrift. With all these mixed signals from the indecisive debutantes, no wonder the boys are getting all miserably confused. No wonder the good boys go bad.

Seriously. What's wrong with the girls? Barmy hormones aside, why would you not want a Mr Nice Guy? If a nice fella treated me that thoughtfully, I'd probably have him hog-tied in seconds and dragged back to my cave. There is no such thing as too nice when it comes to me.