Men like to think they’re complicated creatures, each with their own ‘quirks’ AKA gobshite tendencies. They’re not. They all tend to exhibit standard gobshite behaviour of one kind or another. Here are the textbook types and how to spot them.
You match. He sends a message the right side of flirty. The banter goes well for a few weeks. You take the plunge and meet him. He’s wearing suit pants and a pinstriped shirt. White socks with black shoes. He’s not Michael Jackson. This is not ok. Appearance isn’t everything, but if he looks like his Mum and Dad are related, or worse, like he’s from Norfolk, get swiping again.
The second kind of Tinder Gobshite is much easier to spot.
“Nice picture. Is your friend single?”
“Will you sit on my face?”
Get to fuck, shit for brains.
The Lazy Gobshite is a dangerous breed. They have the conniving qualities of cats, and once it’s too late, you realise they are also mangey- like cats. What will happen is they will sweep you off your feet. Act like a perfect gentleman. Make you want to treat them like a King; and then BAM! Before you know it, you’re his Mum. You’ll have to nag him to brush his teeth, change his pants, get out of bed and engage in conversation.
Why ask for your number if he’s not going to get in touch? A simple knobhead.
Married Gobshites work in a plethora of ways. The main things to look for are –
Friendship- Who says men and women can’t be friends? It’s all going great until he starts sending you dick pics once his The Wife has gone to bed.
Seeking Pity- She doesn’t understand me. We never have sex. She doesn’t make me laugh like you do. WALK AWAY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REMOVE YOURSELF.
Lack of Spontaneity- The Married Gobshite will follow a strict routine. Perhaps The Wife is at Zumba between 7 and 8 on a Tuesday. Expect contact.
Sexual Adventures- Everything vetoed by The Wife will become your responsibility.
Of course, the most obvious action of a Married Gobshite is that he won’t tell you. This is where the lack of spontaneity will come into it’s own. Once you notice a pattern, take off your 6 inch platforms and run.
The only way you’ll ever know anything about a Mummy’s Boy Gobshite is if his Mummy tells you. There is even a chance of her knowing intimate details of his sex life. And yours. Literally nothing is sacred. If he rings his Mummy and asks her to book his doctors appointments, you’re on the road to nowhere. Similarly, if his Mummy rings and quizzes you about an argument you’ve had with your fella, or about a cyst on your vagina, it’s acceptable to set fire to his clothes/stab his telly with a bread knife/sleep with an old friend/a stranger/his brother.
Now I know this is old fashioned and frowned upon by many, but if a man accepts your half hearted offer to put your hand in your pocket on a first date, change your phone number. If he persists, move house. Pay for anything on a first date and before long he will have given up work and be living the life of Riley whilst you’re working 2 regular jobs and nights as a dog shit scooper to fund him.
These aren’t secretive. Believe me, if you’ve met one, you will know about it. First date, perhaps second, and they’ll be straight out with talk of deep throat and anal. Each to their own, but there are specific websites for the kind of things The Sexual Deviant Gobshite is after. If they’re that open when you have just met, things will escalate rapidly.
I’ve heard tales of men pleasuring themselves on sunbeds, so be suspicious if your man has a deep tan in November. Another common trait is masturbating under the cape whilst having a haircut. So if your bloke comes home with a short back and sides and a huge smile on his face, pack his bags for him. And don’t forget his Vaseline stash.
He plans a perfect date. Cinema and a lovely little family run Italian. He’s good looking, charming, has a good job and he’s dressed within an inch of perfection. He orders a bottle of red. For himself. You take it with a pinch of salt. Just how he likes his tequila shots. The conversation flows. It’s going ok. Except the drinks are flowing more than anything else. But that’s ok. Everyone’s entitled to let their hair down once in a while. By the time you get back to his, he’s had a pint of Guinness, 3 large glasses of red, 3 pints of cider, and the bottle of red. Then comes the moment. He opens another bottle and says, in his suave, seductive tone… “You don’t want any, do you?”. No, I don’t. And I’m not after any wine either.
One thing you should be aware of is a phenomenon known as the gobshite hybrid. Some men are so far down on the arsehole scale that you may find they exhibit two or more ‘TYPES’ – for example I’ve dated a Lazy Mummy’s Boy. It was a dark dark time. No one should ever have more than one cross to bear so turn that cross into a bridge and burn it. Immediately.
And of course, if you’re convinced of his gobshite status but you’re resolved to love him forever anyway, here’s a fab him and hers keyring set…
Still not sure? Find out if you’ve fallen for the right fella…