For once on Missing A Dick, “little things” does not refer to the size of your penis. In this instance, it hints at “men’s” inability to comprehend that it’s the subtle signs of showing you care that prove you have some semblance of a cock–holding the door, walking next to your lady instead of ahead, waiting for her even if she takes a Marilyn Monroe amount of time to get ready, etc.

To bypass the little things in favor of your own selfish, blacked out pursuits is to display a level of castration on par with Napoleon (Bonaparte, not Dynamite). Although Williamsburg is an area where “man’s” self-involvement reigns supreme, and it’s difficult to take others into consideration when you’re so busy gazing into the mirror as you grasp the area where your dick is supposed to be, try to think a bit harder next time you Irish goodbye, don’t do the dishes, give up on sex upon not experiencing instantaneous wetness, pour a cup of coffee for yourself but not for her, or generally act as though you’re a teenage boy still dependent on your mother.