"How do I get a boy to like me?" she asked.

A high school student asked me how she could get a boy to like her. I engaged my parental guidance filter, hired three witnesses, and made sure the cameras were rolling. Just kidding, but I had to temper my answer.

I initially felt sorry for the young lady. Even a kid doesn’t want pity. I didn’t want to discourage her by disclosing the hundreds of fruitless crushes I have had. I figured the best way to dance around this issue was to ask questions.

“How do you know he doesn’t like you already?”

“He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“Is he a movie star or something? If it’s Bieber, this discussion is over.”

“No, he’s gross. It’s a boy in my high school.”

“Is he under eighteen?”

“I guess so. He’s in high school. Why does that matter?”

“It just does. All right. Is he in one of your classes?”

“No. I just see him around.”

“Next time you see him, smile at him.”

“OK, then what?”

“See if he smiles back. If he does, walk up to him and say hi.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Make sure he’s alone so he’s not distracted.”

“Fine. What do I say after hi?”

“Start with small talk. Ask him what his favorite movie is. After he answers, tell him you won two movie passes, and ask if he’d like to join you.”

“What? No! Boys are supposed to ask girls out.”

“I know, but you can put it out there.”

“Ugh. Can’t I just leave a note in his locker?”

“Bad idea. He’ll read the note and assume it is from some cheerleader he has a crush on. Then, he’ll follow her around like a puppy. He’ll probably find out where she lives and drive past her house, hoping for a glimpse. Then, he’ll arrange to run into her various places. He’ll finally get the courage to walk up to her and he’ll stutter like a fucking (sorry) ass. She won’t even know who the fuck (sorry again) he is and she’ll think he’s a nerdy, douche-y stalker weirdo. Her ape-sized college linebacker boyfriend will walk over and give her a kiss. Then he’ll give the stalker kid a wedgie, which will send the kid into a deep depression, which he'll try to deal with by writing sad memoirs about how every woman he falls in love with is unavailable. Who knows? Maybe the lonely lad will publish a few books or write a movie script and drown his sorrows in bourbon.”

“…”

“Um. Yeah, leave a note in his locker. Great idea.”

It’s easier to give advice to mature women.

“How do I get this guy to like me?”

“Show him your tits.”

“You’re such a dickhead. Seriously.”

“Your ass?”

“Come on.”

“How about writing a note in lipstick on a bar napkin?”

“Welcome to nineteen-seventy.”

“Buy him a drink. Maker’s Mark is a fine choice.”

“Nice try. Get your own.”

“Damn it. Just walk up to the guy, get his attention, knock on the center of his chest, and ask, ‘Excuse me, is this open for business?’”