Boys, I’ll make this short: treat her good.
Treat a girl the way you’d treat the most expensive thing you’ve ever touched. No. Treat her like the most rare thing you’ve NEVER touched.
Try to think of the most valuable object on earth. A Rembrandt painting, an 11th century Bible, the Cup of Christ, the Stetson of Willie Nelson.
Treat your girl like that.
Treat her like she’s been removed from a bullet-proof case and hooked to your arm by Billy Graham himself.
Open every door for her, pull out every chair, hold her pocketbook when need be. Admire her like a painting—not a magazine.
When you spend time together, look straight into her eyes. After all, her eyes lead to her mind, which leads to her heart, which leads to her soul.
Above all—and I am governmentally serious about this—do not look at your damn phone. Not even once. I mean it. Don’t hold it in your lap, don’t set it on the table, don’t keep it in your pocket, don't make trips to the bathroom to send texts.
you’re with her, leave your smartphone in your glovebox. Then, place your car in neutral, lock the doors, set the vehicle on fire, and push it into the nearest muddy ditch.
You’re in public with a famous Rembrandt painting—on loan from the Louvre. Don't waste time.
See how the light hits the angles of her face. Watch the way she wrinkles her forehead when she laughs.
Listen with big ears. Let yourself drift upon the harmonics of her voice like you’re tubing down the Blackwater River with a cooler full of Budweiser and Doritos.
Ask questions. But don't ask common ones. Be original.
Ask how old she was when she lost her first tooth. Ask about her dog, and where it sleeps.
Would she rather hang-glide or flea-market? Winn-Dixie or The Pig? Kroger or Publix? Barbecue or…