Bryan and I were at a party that I had been invited to by friends that I had made in hopes of meeting a girl for me to date. After seeing Bryan together with the very dame I had my eye on I began to evaluate the dynamics of our relationship with a mutual friend.
"That's the life of a wingman," the friend answered.
"Since when does the wingman get all the girls?" I asked.
"Since never. The wingman does the work so the main man can get in," she said.
"Well that doesn't make any sense. Bryan has been my wingman for years and he always gets the girls and I get nothing. Either he is a really bad wingman or..."
"Or he isn't the wingman at all."
I sat there in silence for a moment, contemplating the implications of the accusation. Me, a wingman? All these years I thought he was trying to help me, but really he was just using me as a meat head marionette in his narcissistic puppet show of passion. "No!" thought I. "That's not true! That's impossible!" My inner Darth Vader responded, "Search your feelings. You know it to be true." It all began to make sense in my mind. I knew I needed to confront Bryan.
The lights were dim in the house later that evening. Stumbling through that dark, I could see Bryan preparing for bed. I decided to be direct. "Bryan?" I asked. "For years I thought you were my wingman. But now I'm starting to think, have I really been your wingman all this time?"
"Uh oh," he said with a grimace, "I knew this day would come."
"So it's true then?" You convinced me that you were my wingman just so you could use me like a pawn in your game of love?"
"Yes. The best way to keep a wingman is to convince him that you are his wingman."
"Alright. Well, at least now I know where I stand." And that was that.
This was part one of a two-part series about wingmen. Tune in sometime in the vague future for the second half. Remember, "A wingman takes one for the team so his buddy can live the dream."