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Davis

Davis, California

Tuesday, October 19, 2021

Column: Resurrect chivalry, sugar

There’s this kid I thought was the last honest cowboy in the ol’ Davis ranch. He’s my little buddy. I consider myself his drunken fairy godmother. I do my best to ensure that he never brings home girls who look like a hybrid of Amy Winehouse and Jabba the Hutt, like his beer-goggled buddies apparently do every weekend. Quality over quantity, people! There’s not much use in getting on someone’s nuts if it’s destined to end with a speeding ticket on your rushed quest for a disinfecting shower at the hospital. In the interest of protecting the innocent, we’ll affectionately dub this fella Bambi.

Since Bambi belongs to the last of a dying breed, the chivalrous, I was particularly disappointed when he told me that he was retracting a bid, so to speak, on a girl who doesn’t drink. The reason was clear. Without alcohol, he realized that his chances of ever receiving more than a hug from this little lady disappointingly diminished.

I suppose I wouldn’t be so bummed about it if I didn’t happen to know that the potential future Mrs. Bambi is a cute, smart girl, and that Bambi’s other options just don’t match up. Dammit, Tom Petty. No wonder all the good girls are home with broken hearts.

There’s a sizeable fraction of kids in Davis who just don’t know how to act on their feelings without getting by from a little help from their friends Jim Bean, Jose Cuervo and Captain Morgan. It’s either that or they’re just too lazy to go au naturale.

Liquid courage plays more of a starring role than a lot of people realize when it comes to getting the goods. It can work for or against you. Either you get to walk hand-in-hand to the DC with Mr. Pretty Eyes the next day or you may find yourself running wide-eyed with terror down First Street while praying that no one you know is driving by.

My theory is that, in general, booze just enhances your feelings and makes you more likely to act on what you actually want. This is despite the fact most people choose to just deny and whine about what a mistake they made to save face in front of their friends. Of course, if you actually blacked out and couldn’t pick your new friend out of a criminal lineup to save your life, that’s a different story and I offer my apologies. My little sister (high school nickname: Alcoholrick) did that.

A little part of me almost doesn’t want to blame the boys for this. I mean, look at the poor suffering fools. They were raised to idolize the likes of Stifler from American Pie. It probably never even occurred to them that there’s another route to first base than a whiskey bottle on a Saturday night. God forbid Bambi should think to take potential future Mrs. Bambi out to dinner. Like, on a date.

They could hit up some go-carts or mini-golf. Since walks on the beach are not an option in Davis, they could go for a moonlit bike ride and Bambi could attach a radio to his bike so that they could listen to “In the Air Tonight” while they tried not to flatten rogue squirrels.

Times have changed, I guess. It’d be too extreme to pronounce chivalry dead, but it appears to be in front of the firing squad.

I blame this on a little bit of everything – a little bit on culture, a little bit on our age and a little bit on sloth. I pray that the lost boys of our generation will get their shit together someday, because an authentically fantastic girl doesn’t come around nearly as often as a random drunk one does.

As for the nice guys out there, you’re a rare breed and you may not be getting any, but that’s no reason to turn into a jerk. You will get laid by a goddess of a female eventually, and she will know what the capital of Vermont is. I realize it’s probably frustrating that girls whine that guys are horrible and then go for tool after tool, but I have no solution to offer for this at the present. Only condolences.

That said, I’m determined to kick Bambi’s ass right back into the good guy zone while still coaching him on how to get the girl, even if it does involve sobriety. I’d like to consider myself the anti-cockblocker – unless, of course, a dire situation is present. I go by Michelle Rick or Miss Thursday, but you can just call me cupid.

MICHELLE RICK assures you that she will be doing her part to resurrect chivalry by punishing Bambi severely by way of a paddle with holes to combat air resistance. Donate said paddle by hitting her up at marick@ucdavis.edu.

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