How to Properly Mansplain When She Says No

May 9

4 min read

Updated: May 20

By: Nate Wolf, a contributing writer and fan of Hard Hat Kings. Go Kings!

A photo of Nate Wolf and Lyrca. Yes he looks unhinged. He is wearing makeup... — "What winning looks like, and yes sometimes I wear makeup.. so what. I'll Taze you!"

So you can picture my glory, I'm 39, 260 lbs of raw, unpolished masculine logic, my top three buttons are always undone and I'm almost tall.

And yes that is a genuine pinky ring. Don't stare, I carry a taser and I will steal your grandma/wife/girlfriend or talking parrot...

Look.

Let me tell you something. I've been selling used Camrys and the same Dodge Challenger Hellcat (sold it 5 times, it keeps getting repo'd) to confused grandparents, Mexicans and Millinials and now Gen Z retards for 14 years.

I know persuasion. I don't think you really heard me.

I KNOW PERSUASION.

I also know body language and took 3 years of karate in middle school. And I know when a woman says "no," what she's really saying is,

"Please explain to me why I'm wrong!"

You don't get 1 and half exgirlfriends by not being good at this game. Using slow, confident words and partially exposed chest hair and "blue steel" from Zoolander...

No is just the word that comes before, "fine I guess I can't do any better."

Last Tuesday, I'm at Starbucks inside a grocery store. Not my usual bodega coffee, but I'm treating myself, before I treat myself. The celtics were on I deserved the 30 pack of Natty Light and 2 frozen pizzas.

And behind the counter is this little fine thing with that POW! factor.

She's around' twenty, give or take. Name tag says "Lycra," which I'm pretty sure is a typo, but whatever.

She's got a nose ring, purple streaks in her blonde hair and an attitude like she's too good for a man who pays his child support 33.3% of the time.

I order a venti caramel ribbon crunch with extra cream, because real men don't fear dairy and I needed to see how she moved.

Which was the right call...

She hands it to me, I touch her hand, pinky first. Our eyes lock. I say, "You know, you've got the kind of face that makes a man want to trade in his truck for something with lower mileage."

She blinks. Then says, "I have a boyfriend."

Classic line. They all have a boyfriend, a cat, or a "migraine." So here's how you properly mansplain that rejection away. A step by step, tell all, for my fellow Andrew Tate bros...

For all my fellow wolves out there still wearing unbuttoned polo shirts from 2002. That's right, it still fits.

The fade and stains just add to the look...

Step 1: Smile like you just found a twenty in an old jacket.

I leaned on the counter, top three buttons open, gold chain resting comfortably in the chest forest and said, "Oh, you think you have a boyfriend. But does he have a 401(k)? Does he have a cherry red 2008 Dodge Avenger with only 140,000 miles? With a bumper sticker that says, 'I only brake for (then a silhouette of a stripper)?

No. He's a beta. I have a spare set of golf clubs and I keep mouthwash in the spare bag, just for you."

Step 2: Gently correct her misunderstanding of her own feelings.

She said, "Please leave or I'm calling my manager."

I said, "Sweetcheeks, your mouth says 'call the manager,' but your aura says, 'I'm tired of boys who text back and don't know how to negotiate a warranty extension.' Let me help you."

Step 3: Use a car metaphor. Women love car metaphors.

"Listen, Lycra."

"If you test drive a car and it makes a funny noise, you don't just walk away. You pop the hood. You get covered in oil, get naked and then you ask questions. I'm not a funny noise. I'm a low-mileage V6 with heated seats that sometimes work. You haven't even checked the trunk space yet."

Step 4: When she threatens a restraining order, pivot to charm.

She pulled out her phone. I said, "Go ahead. Call them. They'll show up, see these three unbuttoned buttons, and they'll say, 'Ma'am, that's just the wolf dogg being passionate about small business and a beautiful women.'"

Step 5: Close the deal with confusion.

Before she could spray me with the whipped cream, I slid her my card.

It says

"Nate Wolf - We Finance Anyone" with a wolf howling at a moon that's actually a hubcap. "Call me when that boyfriend fails his drug test. I'll be at the Twin Peaks on 7th. I'll get you a better paying job, I have a table. It's my table."

She opened her mouth to say something, probably a thank me or ask for my TikTok handle, but I held up a finger, the one with the pinky ring, and cut her off mid-breath.

"Stop babe. I know what you're going to ask. 'Nate, how do I be a better woman while working a high-volume service job?'

Focus, Lycra. Don't overthink it. If you treated this job like I treat a high-interest subprime loan, with firm thigh rub and unrelenting pressure, you wouldn't be so stressed.

I'm not just a guy who knows how to spot a rolled-back odometer; I'm a student of the human experience, and you just need more experiences.

You don't need a break; you need a mentor who understands the structural integrity of a caramel drizzle and a man that will explain how this spinning rock really works...

Then I left.

Didn't buy the coffee. Drove off with my windows down, Creed blasting, belly hanging over the seatbelt, knowing in my heart…

I owned that rejection.

Ladies, if a man explains why your "no" is cute but incorrect, just thank him. He's trying to save you from settling for someone who buttons his shirts all the way up like a coward.

Now, I need to hit up the next grocery store, forgot the pizza, the celtics wait for no man, even as fine as me.

Nate out. 🐺