Phillial: We Go All Emily Post On You

This week, Return to Sender and Phillial team up to give the men of Philadelphia the hand they so desperately need.

Dear men of Philadelphia:

So Return to Sender just tore you a new one, and you're probably pissed at us. But like our overbearing father told us, "We do it because we love." Admit it, Philly fellas. You don't want to be That Guy that the cute chicks subtly point at, whisper about, and giggle sardonically about. Cause they're definitely not talking about your bulging biceps or your bulging… personality. Trust us. We've been there.

However, we've been reading our What to Expect: The Toddler Years and puppy-training manuals, and they tell us to "start with the positive." In our perennial tough-love Judge Judy-meets-the-Fab-Five spirit, we're gonna start by giving you props on your shining moments, and then, in our Phillial manner, offer you some tips on how to avoid being avoided on the El ride home. A "Do's and Don't's" list for the XY-chromosomed set, if you will. We promise we'll be nice. After all, we've paid our educational dues at Cotillion and Dallas finishing school, not the Ayn Rand School for Tots. So fold your napkins on your lap, y'all, and listen up.

Phillial men, if you want to compliment the anonymous damsel, do:

- Walk past us on our West Philly stoop on a lovely fall morning, tip your impeccably polished fedoras to us, wave, and exclaim, "What a beautiful day, and what a beautiful lady!" And. That's. It.
- Engage in non-confrontational small talk with us at Bui's or Hemo's, and at the end of our chat, say, "Has anyone ever told you - you look like Brooke Shields?"
- When we're signing for our tres ubiquitous UPS packages at the doorstep, tell us that our boyfriend (yes – we probably have one) is "lucky to have us." It's sweet.

Phillial men don't:
- Concoct said compliments around our secondary sex characteristics – even if they're prominent, and even if our V-necks or stretch pants accentuate the J.Lo-meets-Jenna obvious,
-Tell us that they're actually a photographer in secret, and would just looooovvvveee to "capture our essence" in the nude,
- Keep bantering in such a manner beyond all of twenty seconds. We get nervous. We start to picture our guest spot on The Maury Povich Show. That's not a good thing.

Phillial men, if you wanna talk to her for more than five minutes, do:
-Keep the conversation away from sex– the more you talk about it, the less likely you'll get it,
-Avoid getting in "the bubble" – the circa three feet of personal space that we all walk around with like a shield. Getting into the bubble – no matter what hotness is contained in that bubble – turns you from that mysterious, suave guy that we see at Trader Joe's into the loon that will likely get a shout-out in Citypaper,
-Talk to the women you know you're gonna see again. Unless you know it's a When Harry Met Sally moment, it's unlikely that your random chit-chat will lead you to knowing her in the Biblical sense. Oh, and don't forget to, you know, talk about her.

Phillial men don't:
-Repeatedly ask, "What? I'm not good enough for you? Are you some kind of prude or something?" when it seems that their interest isn't reciprocated,
-Claim to have amassed a fortune of millions and a swank Center City penthouse - when they're riding SEPTA for chrissakes,
- Passive aggressively mutter under their breath, "Like you'll go out with me anyway." It's not endearing. It makes us think something's wrong with you - that is, if we haven't already noticed your chronic halitosis.

Phillial men, if you do want her number, do:
- Ask for it after you've talked with her more than once, but before she lumps you into dangerous "friend territory," the female equivalent of neutering that has no escape,
- Know how to pronounce her name, not her cup size and waist-to-hip ratio,
- Call her three days later – not three minutes later – it keeps us on our proverbial pedicured toes, and that's a good place to teeter.

Phillial men don't:
-Scribble our digits down in the middle of gettin' down at Shampoo – you'll get it wrong, and some granny in Northern Liberties is gonna get p-i-s-s-e-d at the "Hey, sexy!" they hear on the other line,
-Ask for ours, but refuse to give us theirs - we wonder what you've got to hide,
-Pout after we give you the Rejection Hotline. Hey, sometimes we really would rather play leapfrog with unicorns.

Chris Rock couldn't have said it better on one of his regular HBO specials: "Women have been offered dick since the day they turned thirteen years old. They can pick and choose. They don't want it from just anybody." He's right. We can pick and choose. Phillial men, we're confident. We like to hear it, but we also already know we're gorgeous. Instead of informing us about what we know is common knowledge, keep us interested by, you know, talking to us. It might take you longer to make the beast with two backs – but we think it's worth it. And if you stick around long enough, we might even teach you some table manners. And Shakespeare.