since your feature article “your unfinished Basement or Mine?” was so unrelentingly from the restless-dick perspective, I thought I’d offer another: Did it never, not even once, occur to poor Mr. Schneider that maybe these women into whose pants he so desperately wanted access were playing the same game he was? That, for the purpose of keeping things casual and unattached, the efforts he made to seem agreeable were equally matched by their efforts to seem uninteresting? Or that maybe some of them ran the ditz routine out of disgust, silently wondering as they rambled on about Us Weekly or American Idol how far they could push it before he’d crack? Maybe a grim curiosity drove them to want to see how much he’d put up with just to get laid? My vote is that they played him. In the end, it seems, he would have earned their disgust, as he’s earned mine.

Despite what his article seemed to imply, he is not the only one out there who smiles and nods when instinct begs us to turn and vomit. So, Mr. Schneider, please give up that self-righteous superiority complex, will you? We see right through you. You’re as clear as glass and at least as dense.

Mt. Pleasant