I was relating to some people at work about the trials a friend of mine was having recently. Sparing them the gory details, I gave a brief synopsis of her troubles and my part in helping her out, which included letting her borrow my car for errands and using my house as a temporary storage place. They responded with warm smiles and with kind words telling me what a nice guy I was. I responded in the only appropriate way.
I laughed. Loudly.
I told them in no uncertain terms that I was, in fact, not a nice guy. To quote myself, I told them I was an asshole.
To their credit, they defended me against myself, even citing a couple of previous instances of "niceness" as examples. I admitted to merely doing the logical thing. Nothing more. Besides who wants to be stuck with the tag of being a "nice guy." Not any guys I know. Being the nice guy is like walking through life with a "Kick Me" sign permanently attached to your testicles. It insures you a generous amount of pain and the almost certainty of never getting laid. I realized this years ago after getting walked all over by various girlfriends, all of whom wanted to be friends later
because I was such a nice guy. Ugh! Kick me again -- please!
The nice guy is every girl's friend. The nice guy is all but guaranteed that the only naked breast he will see at a woman's house is of the chicken variety. The nice guy is what every woman asks for and what no woman wants.
As for me, I'm really not a nice guy. Really. I'm just a pragmatist. It's just been my experience that sometimes the pragmatic or logical choice is also the nice one.
Funny how that works out, innit?
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