Please leave me alone. I'm sick and tired of talking to you at parties, or at a bar with your friends, only to find out an hour into the conversation that your "boyfriend just doesn't get Ian McEwan" like I do. You say it so casually, like I should have known, or something, as if it doesn't matter that I'll never have back that hour of my life. Not only that, by this time all the actual single women in the room have seen me chatting to you, I was parading it, sure, but that's no excuse for letting me hang myself. Having a boyfriend is vital information. You should pretend it's your name: "Hi, I'm Chris." "Oh, hello, I have a boyfriend." See, much simpler.
Maybe you think I appreciate the attention; that it's a confidence boost to get even this far chatting to a beautiful woman? Let me set the record straight: it is not a confidence boost to be reminded that I can still attract attention from women who don't want to sleep with me. My mom tells me I'm cool all the time. I'm set.
Now look, I appreciate it must be nice to have a conversation with someone intelligent and charming, without all the sexual tension. (PS, you are delusional if you think any man is reading Ian McEwan for purposes other than sharking. This is why your boyfriend doesn't "appreciate" Ian McEwan.) That's great for you, but I'm tired of falling on my sword.
Clearly I am complicit in the whole pathetic affair: it's low pressure, easy to be daring, and if it doesn't work out I'm not technically rejected. Your boyfriend, fiancee, husband, it's his fault. Your hands are tied.
(Actually, they aren't, but I'm up for that, just so you know.)
What I need from you, really, is one of two things. (I've earned this favour.) First, let's have a real affair. Woman-up, already. Everyone's doing it. Not with me, granted, but I read the newspaper, even if you're married there is a better-than-50% chance it won't work out. The odds are against you. Don't be a hero.
Alternatively, tell all your single sisters what a great guy I am. Everyone knows the best wingman is a beautiful woman. You're recommendation is like one of those Black American Express cards, that they only give to celebrities or the insanely rich. You know, the one's that have no limit, so you could buy, say, NASA, but I'll settle for a moon shot with your hot friend Becky.
Actually, your recommendation would be a lot more helpful if we had an affair first. Otherwise I'm liable to be right back where I started. It will be amazing, I promise. I've read The Illustrated Guide to Extended Massive Orgasm four times. I can find your clitoris blindfolded with my left pinky toe.
Well, probably I could, in theory. I did propose just that to a woman I met in a book store last week but she didn't have time, she would have loved to, really, but she was late to meet her boyfriend. Story of my life.