I wanted to ask, but...

I went to the local watering hole -- the one with attractive ladies, as opposed to the one with overweight men -- tonight.

Much to my surprise, a rather forward offer was made to me within half an hour of being there, on behalf of an attractive girl by her not-so-attractive friend. I, like any red-blooded American male, said it was certainly a possibility. Unlike most American males, I said I wanted to know more about her first.

That apparently was some sort of turn-off. While her friend at one point still ended up in my lap -- her battles with gravity will one day be legendary -- nothing came of the original offer to "let her jump my bones."

I did start observing this duo, though, and it made me wonder greatly about what, exactly, women want. I'm sure philosophers and theologians will long debate this very question.

I'm generally a pretty respectful guy. I have a number of sisters (five, if you're counting), and I learned from that the importance of treating women with respect. I'm not overtly forward. I consider feelings. I, by watching the rest of my gender tonight, am not a man.

I watched guy after guy grope, fondle and otherwise touch these two girls for the rest of the night. Most frighteningly, I observed a bald fat man stroke the girl of the lovely lady who happened to be wearing a rather flattering green sweater. I observed hands smacking backsides. I saw guys move extremely close to these girls.

I wanted to ask why these girls permitted it. I wanted to know what possessed these fellows to be so presumptious. Most of all, I wanted to know why these gals didn't smack them flat across the face.

I didn't ask, thoguh. I wanted to ask, but I didn't. I don't know why not. I guess I'm a coward. I wanted to ask these girls to talk, too, but I didn't. I don't know why.