Tales you should not tell the ladies

John and Mary are on a wine date in a Chinese restaurant. Mary happens to mention that, over the long Heroes’ Day weekend, she was in Dubai.

John, not knowing Mary is a single-mom business lady who goes there for stuff (it is their first date) and eager to steal a march over his imaginary rival, says: ‘Dubai is just here! I have been to Istanbul, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, Manila, Macau, Myanmar...’

Mary, mostly to change the course of the conversation, playfully whispers: ‘I think Lily, our waitress, is lesbian.’ ‘Oh,’ says John, ‘she’s from Lebanon? I thought she was Chinese, but I’m going to Lebanon in November to meet many Lesbians for business.’

Now, even if one is well-travelled and not faking it like John, bragging about one’s travels doesn’t earn one bonga points. What if that lass you like across the table says, "me I haven’t even climbed a plane to Coast"?

The old trick of dangling car keys, smart phones and other accessories to other things is also pretty much out. That is so 1995, when the in-thing was Beijing. Then there are those men who want to show their fresh dates that they are the movers-and-shakers of this country.

Their phone never stops ringing while out on the date. "Transfer a meter from my FCA (Foreign Currency Account) and put it all in T-Bills."

Then he holds the mobile gadget away from his ear for a second, winks at you and says, sotte voce, "I made a killing on the shilling." Let’s say, for one second, you are a banker babe and actually understood what he was saying. Are you supposed to be impressed that now that the top echelons have slaughtered the economy, you have a gleeful, boastful vulture across the table?

Kisii proverb (or, maybe, Wanga one) – when you eat carcass, eat and fart quietly.

Only jackasses boast about their assets to women they’ve just met, yet some men want to tell new dates about a plot they have bought, or ‘on-going’ building construction. What the fellow is really saying beneath the actual monologue text is, "I have got it all going on and want to bribe my way into your anatomy. I hope you’ll think it is your womb. You are close, but not quite."

I have even heard men brag to women about their couches, pay-TV and refrigerator, in the bar.

Then there is a new breed that tells women how well they cook – including exotic foreign dishes.

How starved does a lady have to be to fall for this basic bed-and-breakfast line? But then, again, I can barely boil a cupper to save my life, could be I’m just jealous of chaps who can whip up a kitchen storm.

Worst ever are the bedroom bully braggers. Is telling a woman about your wondrous bedroom exploits supposed to get her all wet and sweaty?

I hear there is a new generation that even sends snaps of their genitals to ladies. Such a snap is called a ‘selfie,’ because that does makes you a prick.

All this doesn’t mean you become all disconnected with her, and crack stupid football jokes like ‘Chelsea is like a period. It only makes winning appearances once a month.’

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