No, I'm not drunk, or an idiot...but I just can't talk to women

IMHO / BY RYAN KINRADE

WHEN it comes to dating, a lot of single guys like myself suffer a wasting disease that renders us incapable of becoming the Casanovas we know we are inside. Chronic shyness has sent millions of otherwise fine and eligible gentlemen to their graves as bachelors throughout the ages.

Shyness is something I've struggled with since my teens. I've been unable to figure out why I am crippled by this tragic affliction. It's not that I think I'm ugly or unintelligent. In fact, I know myself to be just the kind of person that a lot of women say they want. I'm a good listener, I love children and I'm a domestic all-star. I'm mature, passionate about art and life, and -- I've been told -- a damn good kisser.

So how come when I'm out there in the world, at a pub say, on a Thursday night, all that comes out of my mouth is garbled? How come I can't work up the nerve to say something witty or even just plain dumb to that cute girl who just flashed me a pair of come-hither eyes?

The key ingredient to a successful hook-up is confidence. Nothing flattens a soufflé faster than a stuttering buffoon who can't even manage a conversation starter, however lame. Yet for some reason, whenever I see a pretty girl, my mojo just seems to fly out the window, and unless I am forced to talk to her (i.e. she is my waitress) I seldom do. In fact she could be just my type, standing alone, talking to no one, smiling invitingly, and the odds are still very good that I will not talk to her.

Funny thing is, once I'm introduced to someone I'm usually fine. I can keep the conversational fires burning and flirt as a normal human would; in fact, I can be downright charming. But I cannot initiate, and even though the rules of dating have changed considerably in this post-Sex and the City world, a man who cannot initiate is almost always dead in the water.

My irrational fears are not alleviated when my married friends start to cajole me with helpful little taunts like: "Right there, Ry; she's looking at you, go talk to her." No, rather than listen to their advice, well meaning as it is, I will take an unnecessary trip to the washroom to hide for a while, and when I come back I'll have another Standard and a shot of Jim Beam, thank you very much. Not that liquor ever does the trick -- if anything, it makes me more self-conscious. But hey, if you can't get lucky, might as well go for the consolation prize.

Perhaps I should be peppering my act with bravado and building interest through innocent lies, as I learned in advertising class. But I can't escape the idea that I must be honest about myself -- I guess you could say I have a bit of a moral complex on top of the shyness.

The only thing I'm sure of is that I must keep trying any and all means to scale the walls that dam me in. Because I really do want to share my life with someone special, or at least have the nerve to ask a girl out once in a while. I like movies, I like plays, and I do hate to go alone. Who do you discuss the plot and characters with if you've gone solo?

My roommate suggested I start by talking to guys: people in the check-out line, or on the bus, random strangers who interest me. This, she advises, will get my nerve up a bit; that way when I do finally approach a pretty girl I'll know I'm capable of small talk, I'll be more comfortable in my own skin and I might even have developed a solid opener.

But the wisest thing she said was this: the best way to do something is to tell yourself "I can" instead of "I can't." I've been telling myself I can't talk to women for the longest time.



Ryan Kinrade plans to chat up ordinary Winnipeggers indiscriminately and invest in a copy of The Little Engine That Could in the immediate future.