Women are wired to control you. But they’re only happy if they can’t.

A woman will strive desperately to force you into a box. That means a simple definition of you, that means an expectation that you keep meeting, where she knows predictably WHO YOU ARE. and what you’re going to do in any given situation.

But If you thwart this effort for her, she will thank you for it every day for the rest of her life.

Her efforts to put you in a box are her efforts to control you.

And her effort to control you is her last best defense for falling uncontrollably and madly in love with you where she has no control.

It is her brilliant ego play for her to find you, make you predictable, make you controllable, to control you, and therefore to be safe in her heart - but miserable in her soul.

When you thwart her control mechanisms, her definition mechanisms, where “You’re a this” (or especially “You’re *just* a this”), you short circuit this apparatus in her and her emotions run wild For You. She will be out of control in her love For You and she will thank you for it, for despite herself, it is what she really wants.

You need to develop a sixth sense for this. You need to pay constant attention (at least for a while), particularly to her questions.

*Why* is she asking you this? Will your answer - or her expected answer - define you in a way that will cement it permanently in her brain, allow her stop trying to figure you out and start building a box for you in her mind?

Then don’t answer it. Answer it obliquely Answer it with dismissive humor. Or best of all, answer it in a way that she had no chance of expecting and send her box back to the sweatshop in China whence it came.

Does this sound like a lot of work and hassle?

Yes and no.

Yes in that you DO have to be aware and vigilant. Women don’t necessarily use questions the same way you do - to arrive at fact based conclusions or interesting discussions. Her questions are purposeful, and their purpose - much of the time - is to “get” you, both in the “understand” you meaning of the word but also in the “trap” you sense of the word. Get in the box!

You can listen for this when there is a slight incongruence in her question (most women aren’t even that good at this). “That’s weird,” you might think. “What does this question have to do with what we were just talking about? It seems a little out of place.”

Ding ding ding, you’re being set a trap for. She is sneaking in a boxing question amidst a lot of irrelevant (to her) conversational misdirection.

Remember, her goals are different from yours. She is not aiming to get the same things from a conversation that you are. Tune into her *real* needs, and you will not just avoid the slave ship to henpeckery but you will claim your own slave to your heart, a beautiful giving creature who will unlock the majesty and bounty of her love for you in ways that she herself can not even fathom.

But again, is this really worth it? Read that last sentence again, and if you still don’t think so, then just hang up now and join the Seminary.

It IS a lot of work, at least in the beginning.

But once you become better at it than her, it ceases to be that difficult, and instead it should evoke a knowing smirk from you, because you know she is one more step towards falling into YOUR trap, which is actually the liberation of her defenses against her own free flowing adoration - which, in her heart of hearts, in her pussy of pussies, is exactly what she wants and desperately needs.

So when these trap questions arise (and they will arise less and less so long as you remain undefinable), it will have been worth the weeks or months of constant vigilance for the bounty at the end of the rainbow. You will have turned the tables on her and ensnared HER in the process, and ensnared is exactly what she wants to be, by someone who constantly activates her imagination by his unpredictability - rather than her boredom and frustration by his paint by numbers certainty.

With you, she can now live in the forever unfolding romance novel of her dreams, never knowing where the next twist and turn may come from, bracing now for the storm, now again for the warm cuddle, now again for the terror of your occasional disappearances. What sounds exhausting and exasperating for a steady-at-the-helm man is actually the lifeblood of a woman’s satiety. It is the volleyball that never hits the ground, buoying one way, then the other, nearly missing, and then saved at the last moment . . these are the twists and turns that not only delight her but SAVE her from the tedium of life that is her default being without YOU.

“You always keep me guessing.” “I never know what to expect with you.” “It’s alway a surprise.”

These are the sorts of *compliments* I receive from my women. Inevitably followed by tales of disgust from those whom she knew everything about and would always punch the rusted clock of her heart the same way at the same time, only occasionally calling in sick for scheduled holidays and family funerals. It is a waking death for a woman, who is incapable of generating her own excitement - at least not in ways that aren’t completely ruinous to those around her. Although in desperate times, such concerns become less of a priority. Boring men are the cause of disastrous ruin the world over, only they have no idea they are even doing it.

So let this be your gift to her. Buff, thin, smart, dumb.. . .thwarting her expectations is her favorite game and can be played masterfully by luddite and virtuoso alike. It just takes a LITTLE attention, a little practice, and a decided cultivation of mystery, perhaps even to your own self.

If you choose the safety of the box yourself, then you have dug your own grave and you get what you deserve. Courage and bravery to resist stasis, comfort, and definition are the swashbuckler’s tools to unguard her heart and win her undying affection. And as a side benefit, you get to live a thrilling, exciting life of your own too!

So please please please please please. . .develop your nose for The Box and avoid it like the plague. It is your greatest enemy - and HERS - even if she won’t admit it until after its walls have fallen all around her and she has no other safe harbor but your waiting arms. The sighs of gratitude will be the siren’s song reward for your tightrope mastery, only unlike the sirens, this song leads not to tragedy but to the sustained beauty of hearts intertwined as long as you choose to dance above the plebian warehouses stuffed to the gills with Boxes, neatly stacked upon one another, all the same, forever tracked, all whose fate has been predestined and sealed with sticky tape. And from your heights you can laugh at your freedom and fun, safe from the delivery man’s indifferent gaze and his ticky tacky stacking and packing. Never safe yet always free.

In this game, when she wins, she loses, and when she loses, she wins bigger. Give her the victory of losing over and over again to your unyielding defiance, your arrogance in the face of her ploys, and your burning to the ground of any last chance she has of conquering you with her tricks. With her walls collapsed, her defenses in tatters, and her will to fight defeated, she will unfold like the rose within the lotus, divine and mortal love wrapped as one to feast on your soleilial rays, helpless and giving up her jewel willingly and with abandon. She will be happier than she has ever been and do everything in her power to ensure you are as well. And when the journey starts here, there is no telling where it will end. . .