Got to witness one of the best pairings of pilot/wingman action in years the other night.  These two had a system and they worked it beautifully.  The poor girl didn’t stand a chance.  The pilot acted like the nicest guy you’ve ever met.  The kind who has been out of relationship for a while and is open to the right woman.  The wingman acted like a gigantic douchebag.  The kind who oozes charm and womanizes as a point of principle.  Turns out the pilot is the womanizer and the wingman is a really great catch.

My policy on wingmen is simple: If you have to use a wingman to approach me, you don’t deserve my time.  I realize that approaching a woman or a group of women can be intimidating.  We are, after all, fierce and vicious creatures of the night.  Bloodthirsty, soul-crushing, life-destroying vamps.  I get it.  We’re scary.  Bring back up.  I can totally respect the “power in numbers” idea.  It’s why girls always go to the bathroom together.

However, I’m only human and I deserve a bit more respect than that.  And, ultimately, that’s what it feels like to me; a slap in the face.  You don’t have the balls to strike up conversation with me one-on-one and you expect to be worthy of my attention?  You expect me to take you seriously as a man?  Boy, please.

And ladies, put your fangs away and give the guys a break.

Me and my pilot.
Me and my pilot.

My name is Chelsey Mick, and this how we critique wingmen, and wingwomen.