It might be hard to believe, but the only thing worse than a “man” incapable of romance is a “man” who feigns romantic capabilities at the outset of meeting him. The kind who channels all of his “wooing” into the first month or two of knowing you, only to let it all hang out (minus a dick) once you’ve been irrevocably captivated.
Then, as he eases you into the extent of just how much he doesn’t give a fuck about you or whether or not he’s catering to your need to be enchanted at least once a week, you’ll realize you’ve become too emotionally attached to address the shift in personality. Your goddamn chemical makeup has become inextricably linked to his–the pheromones have seeped permanently into the memories you have of him when he was good to you. And now, you’re fucked–doomed to be subjected to the dicklessness as you choose not to contrast it against the version of him you first knew, the one that hinted at just the slightest inkling of a prick.