About the author
It’s Sunday and you’re hungover, angry at the world, at bartenders and most of all: yourself. No worries, we feel the same. That’s why we’ve invented Sunday Roast. A bi-weekly conversational ‘column’. A written one. Online. Every other Sunday, Mark and Sabrina vent about the horrible burdens and ungodly mishaps of their 21st century life. Usually reserved only for bars, we bring our problems right into your home. Sharing is sexy, and a problem shared is a problem halved.. You are cordially invited to our pity party.
Previous Sunday Roast here
Dear Mark,
This is going to be a long one, because this subject tugs at my heartstrings. So get ready and pass this bit of information on to every guy you know.
Going out is for girls basically a total pain. First you have the ‘getting ready’ part: you take a shower (my boiler broke down so I have to start it up multiple times or endure a polar experience), then you have to blow-dry your hair and often torture it some more with either a straightening or curling iron. Plus, you have to buy all that crap too, which is bloody expensive. Then the make-up and the infinite debate on whether you should do a red lip or a smokey eye follows. And the outfit can also take up to an hour to choose. When I was in a relationship I dressed pretty but didn’t give a damn about how little ‘boobage’ was showing, now I carefully curate the buttons on my shirt. We girls invest a lot of time in looking good.
Guys on the other hand: take a shower, put on the first shirt they see, done. And they can, due to the pretty unfair advantage of there being so much more women than men in Amsterdam. So we go through all that trouble of looking our best, only to get our asses groped by unwashed miscreants, or having them pull the strands of our bras (I was wearing a shirt with a low cut back, some guy actually wanted to grab my bra) and trying their most lame pick-up lines on you. It’s bad enough that when you’re walking down the street guys treat you like a cat, ‘pssst, pssst’, but to do that in a club?
His mouth was moving in a fashion that made him seem related to Hedwig from Harry Potter
Code red
Last night, a friend and I decided to text each other ‘code green’ if we saw someone up to our standards. After a while I ran into a guy that was perfect to add on my ‘guys I’ve kissed and liked’ list as his name only consisted of one syllable, which is kinda my thing. Being a bit too sober, I kept on walking. In the meantime a guy came up to me; “Can I ask you something?” Me being a perfectly nice individual I said “of course!”, so he responded with “What’s the fastest way to your ping (!!) or phone number?” I looked at him and thought to myself; “should have buttoned up that last one too”. But, then I saw one-syllable man again and by now he’s so high that it was impossible to look at him and still think ‘handsome guy’. His eyes were basically black and he kept on moving his mouth in a fashion that made him seem related to Hedwig from Harry Potter.
After all this, I decided to give it a rest. What happened to chivalry? Mark, I know you’re a good guy but pass this wisdom on. What’s wrong with going up to a girl and telling her “I think you’re really pretty, I’m *name*, can I buy you a drink?”. I will bet you some good money that this will succeed. Don’t call her ‘chickie’, and don’t tell her she’s ‘banging’. This will not get you anywhere with a nice girl. Guys should keep that in mind ’cause last night, in a club packed with guys, I texted my friend: “Code red, I’d rather get a ‘bamischijf’ than a kiss.”
Love,
Sabrina
p.s. Loved the photo of the cat in your last letter to me. It’s up on my ‘kittehs’ board on Pinterest.
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