Ode to the Nice Girl

A TRIBUTE TO THE NICE GIRLS
By "a woman of amazing strength"

This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked,
who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks
and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing
something wrong.
This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first
date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a
supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the
girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're
interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and
obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able
to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood.
This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable
in either skirts, sweats,or pajamas, who care more than they should for guys who
don't deserve their attention.
This is for those girls who have been in the
trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up
and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word.
This is for
the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words
of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all
wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as
they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.
This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an
experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a
night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments, and
explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the
girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong
tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy
friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before
dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still
willing to pass out in their bed.
This is for the girls who have left sad
song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand
through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped
their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the
first blonde girl in a skirt.
This is for the girls who have been told that
they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as
a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only
wanted as a friend.
This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom,
but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a
relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and
touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to
begin with.
This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and
heart, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's
just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses
because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that
they don't want anyone.
This is for the girls who have had their hearts
broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first
place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and
inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for
the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close,
or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's
with to be a random hookup.
This is for the girls who have endured party
after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he
didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you.
I honor you for
the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his
car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or
said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd
realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that
it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to
sleep.
This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends"
comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for
never realizing that when you choose guys, you seem to choose those which
make you cry yourself to sleep.
This is for the hugs you've received from
your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful
and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is
for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing
that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your
teddy bear. (dang, how sad!)
This is for the girls who have been used and
abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving
something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something
was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever
wanted.
This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and
who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think
that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept
the scraps thrown to them by guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit
and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys
who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them;
who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest
will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are
genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and
beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that
girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you:
were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling,
interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to
give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a
call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and
straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you
intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps
material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not
immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the
night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth?
And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her,
see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and
search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because
therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not
looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in
your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument
you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when
you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as
disposable as the condom you were using during it.
So don't say you're on
the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take.
You don't want the nice girl.. You never do. Why? Because you only see the
exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't
want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship:
relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to
extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust,
three things you never seem willing to express.
Maybe nice guys finish last,
but in the race they're running they're chasing after the easy-targets...
the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a
congratulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the
sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize
that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.
So maybe
it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their
running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting;
however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch,
and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race
without some chocolate?)

Taken from a very nice pokemon