What Women Don't Want

Regularly I learn new things that women don't like. This past weekend while in Hartford, Connecticut I discovered that when a women asks you to guess her bra size, she doesn't like it when you just squint your eyes, plant your nose within a millimeter of her breasts and stare for a good three minutes without saying anything. Bobbing your head while cupping the air around her breasts with your hands doesn't seem to arouse her either.

Dear women:

Please don't ever ask me to guess your bra size again. I'd rather guess how fat I think you are or the number of hairs you have in your mustache.

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Dear salesmen who travel around to aviation trade shows around the country and don't understand how a guy like me could possibly lack confidence:

Please don't try and set me up with another 6"2 former high school basketball star who greets me with a pained expression on her large face when you introduce me as "the funny man" and then forces me to guess her bra size. I know you mean well, but you're making me feel like an asshole.

Here's bachelorette photo I crashed: