Here’s What Your Favorite Dipping Sauce Reveals About Your Favorite Kind of Bad Boy
[Hey, cutie. Just wanted to let you know that this story originally ran in our October issue, so if you like what you see, you should probably snag a hard copy ASAP. Bye!]
Just as your Sun sign explains why you’re obsessed with The Container Store (hi, Virgos!), the sauce you slather on your pizza, fries, and nugs hides some bizarrely correct insight into the dudes you keep tangling with. (Sorry, I’m about to ruin ranch for you.)
Say hello to the self--perceived gentleman who calls you baby, sweetheart, and girl. He even compliments your hair on its fifth day of dry shampoo! Sadly, he’s doing the same for the five other unsaved numbers he’s -texting. Womp.
You stan a guy who enjoys the finer things in life, but just like your try-hard mayo, don’t be surprised when his card is declined at the Michelin-star restaurant he suggested. TL;DR: He reeks of BME (Billy McFarland Energy).
His friends would never know he sends you daily GM texts or that you’re looking for an apartment together because, well, they don’t know you exist. Like this two-in-one sauce, he sucks with them; he’s great with you…but yes, he should be gone.
Welcome to the basic club. He pretends he knows what he’s doing in the bedroom, like all guys, really, but this is the bro who mixes up your vagina and your back door because he’s too “in demand” to care.
If you leave him on read after he hit you with an “ok,” get ready for a shady subtweet quoting JB’s lyrics: “My momma don’t like you, and she likes everyone.” The burn is subtle, but it’s a burn.
He tries to convince you that it’s your fault he left a flame emoji on his -ex-girlfriend’s thirst trap but buys you flowers the next day “just because.” You: supes confused by his sweet but tangy behavior.
He is dependable and charming and tastes good in every situation...until you send a text with no reply and realize you’ve fallen for the most common flavor, er, behavior once again. #Ghosted.
He’s in errrbody’s DMs: your best friend’s, sister’s, first grade teacher’s. Basically, he doesn’t have a type and wouldn’t know how to DTR even if he understood the acronym.
So maybe he doesn’t con people into pyramid schemes, but he leaves a blah taste in your mouth. You carry the convos and bring the flavored lube—laziness is low-key evil.
He legit never discloses information about himself (like, why are u orange?). You still don’t know whether he’s a spy or actually Ted Bundy.
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