I've got a little secret. It's something I don't divulge too readily, even to close friends. But I'm worried other people can see it. Especially the people who don't know me well — somehow I'm convinced they can penetrate right through the veil of secrecy and see what's going on. The way I walk, the way I talk, the way I eat my dinner all point to one thing: I am a True Gentleman.
Let me clear something up for everyone out there who's wondering. Being a True Gentleman has nothing to do with good manners, thoughtfulness, affectionate conduct towards others, fashion sense or demeanor. Rather — and this is something I've only learned recently — being a True Gentleman is all about sexual inhibitions.
When I see a girl in leggings, my heart stops, then begins to pound. How dare that ignorant hussy wear such clothing outside the confines of her dorm room! Because leggings, and by extension other form-fitting articles of clothing, may appear to satisfy girls' innocent desire to wear something comfortable that looks good. But I know better. It's meant to provoke me, to set my teeth on edge with sexual frustration. It says, "Here is somebody comfortable enough with her body to show it off." And I could never be that comfortable with myself! Not in a million years.
Obviously, the best way to work out my love/hate relationship with the other 50 percent of the human race is to write a letter to The Observer about it, blaming other people for behaving in a way that goes against my own rather button-down, conservative notions of how people should behave. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy, and if I had my way they'd all vanish lickety-split.
What really kills me, though, is the way these girls force me to disrespect them by dressing so sexy. I mean, it's not like I have a choice in the matter of whether or not to disrespect someone. Too often, the way other people dress forces me into regrettable patterns of behavior over which I exercise little or no control. That would require self-awareness and maturity — neither of which I naturally possess, both of which take time and effort to cultivate.
And temptation — don't get me started on temptation — I can resist anything but that. The only thing holding me back is my inhibitions — many of which, I am convinced, are secretly justified — and what happens if those ever give way? Especially if I ever try booze, which isn't likely the way things are going, but secretly makes me curious.
Let me close out this somewhat rambling Viewpoint with an appeal to my female readers. Ladies — why are you frittering away your time with those jerk bros? They don't respect you. They will use you and discard you without further thought, those carefree, lighthearted, playful idiots. (I call them "idiots" because if they were as smart as me they'd know the only proper way to behave around girls is to be heavily inhibited — or as I call it, "polite.")
Wouldn't you rather have a man who could treat you properly? A man who can guarantee many awkward silences over lunch in South Dining Hall? A man who will be hesitant and nervous around you, as befits the statuesque goddess that you are? Now that's what I call being a True Gentleman.
So women of Notre Dame, consider this your final warning. If I see you wearing leggings or any other revealing, form-fitting clothing, I will never pursue you romantically. I will never show any interest in you, as a friend or otherwise. You will never have me in your life. I hope you're suitably frightened and abashed by this prospect.
And finally, to all the haterz who gonna hate: I was born this way.
Brooks Smith is a senior honors mathematics major and can be reached at bsmith26@nd.edu
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
