"What happened to the nice guys?" It's a lament I've heard from countless female friends tired of dealing with douchebags and asshats. Unfortunately, rarely are these women prepared to hear the answer to the long pondered question they present. I find the overwhelming urge now to answer and finally clarify what happened to the nice guys.
You did. You happened to the nice guys. See, while you were consistently attracted to said assholes, the nice guys were right there next to you. He was the funny guy that was just a friend, the awkward nerd that would treat you not only well but the way you deserved to be treated, or even just the ex you thought was "too domestic" because he wanted to spend time with you, even if it was sitting around doing absolutely nothing. But no, you ignored and rejected these guys.
The nice guys began to fall into the ranks of the douche. Gone with their sense of propriety was their ability to consider you a viable romantic interest.And then they learned.
After months of consoling you over being treated like shit by your last guy (even though they told you this exact thing would happen), they realized that nice guys really do finish last. They also finish first, since they are the only people in the room, fondling themselves in lonely and unappreciated fashion to old episodes of Buffy. With every rejection, these nice guys became that much more jaded; and with every tear you shed, every complaint you had about how shitty Kyle the philandering boyfriend was, they began to not only care less, but realized that they wanted in on the action he was getting. You were hot, nice, and conversation with you didn't make them wonder what the insides of their veins looked like; as such, they were interested. Not just in scrumping and tossing you aside like a used Trojan, but in actually dating. But alas, you never noticed, and they evolved.
Then, that summer after your freshman year at college happened. You met up with all your old high school friends, packing a handle of Aristocrap vodka and a few cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and Steve, your best guy friend from high school, showed up. He told dead baby jokes, made abortion references, and was, overall, the most offensive individual in the room.
Four hours later, you fucked him incoherent.
Though in sex, coming in second feels just as good.After reinforcing everything he believed, he continued with his dickery. The bastard plague began to spread, and the nice guys began to fall into the ranks of the douche. Gone with their sense of propriety was their ability to consider you a viable romantic interest; after all, you're the reason they decided to change anyway.
There were the nice guy survivors. Able to withstand the temptation, they found women who would appreciate their adept ear, their awkward but endearing humor. They found girlfriends, ones who weren't "closet full of coat hangers" slutty, and now when you run into these rare, enduring speci-men, they wait until you're out of earshot to say things like, "Thank God I dodged that bullet."
You were never as good as they thought, anyway.