FUNNY WOMEN: How to Be Adorable for Him


Always be fighting off a low-grade cough.

Call Tuesday “Toosdee.”

Get rid of your pores.

If your middle name is Danielle, then tell him your middle name is Dallas. If it’s Beatrice, then tell him your middle name is Brooklyn. If it’s Paige, that’s fine—you can tell him your middle name is Paige. Anything else should be replaced with the name of a US city with a population greater than one million residents, most of whom are aggressively white.

Rub chocolate chip cookies all over your neck so you’ll always smell like chocolate chip cookies. Rub salicylic acid all over your neck before bedtime, too, to manage all the blackheads from the cookies on your neck.

Refer to burps as “hiccups” or “mouth mistakes,” and do not fart because that would imply that you poop—which you still do, but only in the way where it evaporates through your pores into a pink, gaseous form. (And don’t tell him I told you this, but: he thinks it’s so sexy when you poop.)

Forget the name of your favorite color. If your favorite color is yellow, then say something like, “Oh, God, this is so embarrassing… it’s like, the color of a sunflower? Or the color of the panties I’d be wearing if I was wearing panties right now?” Of course, you’ll be wearing panties when you say this, because you’re always wearing panties. Just don’t let him know you’re wearing panties. Or that the panties you’re wearing have holes in them—and not just the holes for your legs that are supposed to be there.

Regardless of what your favorite color is, tell him your favorite color is the color of his favorite sportsball team. The word “sportsball” can be used to poke fun at the interchangeable premises of sports without making fun of him for liking sports. This’ll show him you’ve got a sense of humor! A non-threatening, less funny sense of humor than his—a sense of humor that would weigh one hundred and fifteen pounds, be able to identify different cuts of meat, and apply eyeliner before going to the gym if it were a person.

If your favorite color is blue, tell him it’s the color of his eyes. If he doesn’t have blue eyes, then I don’t understand why you’re reading this.

Always have two candles lit whenever he’s coming over to your apartment. When he walks in, quickly blow out the candles. You can say something like, “Sorry, I know you hate the scent of cheeseburgers and clove. I just light these candles to relax.” Somehow, this will cue him to let you give him a full-body massage.

Also, buy some new candles.

Never mention the prescription medication that helps you “relax.” It’s just about the candles as far as he knows.

Don’t ever remember where you left your car keys.

Drive a Prius.

Drive a Prius very, very badly.

Drive a Prius so badly, in fact, that it’s easier if he drives you everywhere in his pickup truck. If you want to be extra cute, then ride in the bed of his truck and curl up into a ball and shout, “Weeee!” as you roll around with every stop and turn. Wow—you are so cute!

When he takes you to dinner at fancy restaurants, bake brownies to give to the valet workers. “You guys are seriously the best!” is something valet workers like to hear. He’ll appreciate how kind you are, and it will strangely remind him of his mother, which will almost certainly arouse him.

At dinner, let your lobster bisque spill out of your mouth at least once. Ask him to lick the bisque off your chin. Men love to be asked to help around food.

Accidentally leave your Pinterest wedding board up on your computer. Pin photos of grooms that look just like him, save for one photo of a groom of ambiguous ethnic descent.

Never mind. Don’t do that. That was a weird idea.

When the two of you are back at your apartment after date night, tell him something like, “I can’t wait to get comfy,” then accidentally change into a wedding dress. Quickly apologize, run to your closet, and change into the tuxedo you bought for him. Gah! Apologize again and change into your Dickey’s all-terrain sleep-suit, and bake him some chocolate chip cookies.

Laugh at all his jokes. All of ‘em.

Try butt stuff, I guess.


Rumpus original art by Kaili Doud


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Cara Michelle Smith is humor writer living in Chicago. She has studied with The Second City, and her work has been featured in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Reductress, Splitsider, The Belladonna Comedy, and more. You can harass her on Twitter at @cara_smith5, so long as you do so creatively. More from this author →