I’ve made my share of romantic mistakes, but I’ve never been one of those weird women who was drawn to bad boys. While I appreciated the external appeal, I’ve preferred to not be abused. That whole: “I wear a black leather jacket, tight jeans, smoke cigarettes, and can take you for the ride of your life, baby!” – left me completely cold. Even when I was young and single, I didn’t date one.
Frankly, I found their macho, swaggering, arrogant attitudes, and tacky tattoos to be a total turnoff. When I finally married, it was to a major mensch. Fortunately, my husband doesn’t have a bad boy bone in his body. He’s nice to old ladies, little kids, and even pushy people at thrift stores. Except, if they attempt to steal his stuff. He was well-mannered to my meshuganah mom, the only time that he met her. He held his temper until we got home. She tried her bitchy best to piss him off, but he didn’t rudely retort back.
Bad boys are vastly overrated. They remind me of a pretty present. You think that there’s something special inside, and then you eagerly unwrap it. Underneath the colorful confetti, there’s a pile of putrid crap. I wish that I could warn women, and tell them that caring and compassion are also attractive traits. Someone sweet that rubs your feet, is usually better for you in the long run. While Mr. Rough Rug-Burn with a Harley, will be gone before dawn. I’d bet that Sandra Bullock would agree with me. What would you expect, from a jerk named Jesse James?