Romance is a beautiful thing — until a man decides to freestyle his way into your nightmares.

I was having one of those tea-spilling sessions with my girls — you know, where everyone suddenly becomes a therapist, relationship expert, and emotional support comedian all in one.

We were laughing about the strange things our partners do — the ones we quietly tolerate because, well, love is patient and sometimes blind, deaf, and nose-blocked.

And then, like a badly timed jump scare, I remembered him — my first boyfriend. Sigh.

Young love, they say. But nothing prepares you for the horror show that unfolds when "romance" takes a weird, saliva-filled left turn.

We were being cute, playful, sharing a sweet — one of those sugar candies you pass mouth-to-mouth like you're in a rom-com… or a slightly weird animal documentary.

All was going well until it was his turn to pass the sweet back to me.

He spat his saliva into my mouth.

Let me repeat that — he transferred no sweet, just pure, undiluted man-saliva. I ran straight to the bathroom like it was a scene from The Exorcist — spit flying, soul crying, dignity dying.

He, on the other hand, stood there confused like he was the victim. He said, "But babe, we kiss all the time."

Oh, honey. A kiss is consensual. A surprise spit bath? That's biological warfare.

Needless to say, that romantic moment packed its bags and left the building. He apologized, of course. But my trust? It was still in the sink with the listerine I gargled five times.

As I was narrating the story, one of my friends — normally the savage of the group — suddenly went pale and clutched her stomach like she'd just watched a horror movie in 4D. She nearly puked on her mojito.

That's when it hit me: this wasn't just my trauma — this was a universal female experience.

Most women find that kind of stuff absolutely disgusting. Meanwhile, a lot of men genuinely think it's sexy. Like they're starring in some off-brand, low-budget version of Fifty Shades of Ew.

It occurred to me that someone needs to hand out a public service announcement for men. Because y'all be out here doing the weirdest stuff thinking it's a turn-on, when in reality it's the fastest route to us imagining life as a nun.

So, gentlemen, grab a pen. Or better yet, open your Notes app — because I'm about to break down a few things you do that are not cute, not romantic, and definitely not sexy.

Stay tuned — I'm about to hurt some feelings… with love. Hahaha!

Public Serenading? Damn, please don't!

Listen, I don't care how many rom-coms you've watched or how many TikToks told you that pulling out a guitar in the middle of a restaurant is "romantic."

In real life, it screams: "ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION!…VALIDATE ME!"

Meanwhile, we're sitting there like hostages, smiling awkwardly, praying for the ground to open and swallow us whole.

Sir, if your idea of romance involves a speaker, a crowd, and unsolicited vocals that may or may not be in tune — don't do it.

This isn't The Voice, and I didn't audition for a front-row seat to your one-man concert.

You want to serenade us? Do it indoors. Candlelight. No audience. Just you, me, and your off-key voice in private. That gets our attention.

That's sexy. That's sweet.

But unless the woman you're with actively thrives on being the center of attention (aka Beyoncé in heels on a Tuesday), the whole public serenade thing? Turn Off!

You think we're not blushing because we like i? No! We're plotting our escape and texting the group under the table.

Same goes for Public Proposals.

It's giving pressure, not passion.

Now before the romance police come for me, let me clarify: it's not the proposal itself that's the problem — it's the circus. The cameras. The strangers.

The pressure. The crowd gasping like it's the Oscars while I stand there blinking like I've been ambushed.

See, I'm the kind of woman who gets anxious when the waiter sings "Happy Birthday" too loud — so you can imagine my horror at the idea of a man dropping to one knee in the middle of a food court with a microphone and a flash mob.

My soul would leave my body before he even opened the ring box.

And I'm not alone. A lot of women don't want to be put on the spot like that.

We don't want 57 strangers watching us have what's supposed to be an intimate, emotional moment. It feels more like a performance than a proposal.

Plus, now there's zero room for hesitation — say "no," and you're the villain of the internet. Say "yes," and you're trapped in a TikTok clip forever.

So here's the deal: If you don't know 100% that she wants a public spectacle, don't do it.

Go for a quiet, personal setting. Something that's just the two of you — where she can ugly cry, scream, or even just whisper "yes" without a crowd chanting "KISS! KISS! KISS!"

Because if you're doing it for her, keep the spotlight on her. Not your ego, not your Instagram views, and definitely not that guy in the corner yelling, "Broooo, she said yes!"

Put those veins back where they came from.

Another one on our list is your monster muscles. You know the type. The guy who walks around like he's permanently holding two invisible suitcases, veins popping like a stressed-out GPS line, and a chest so inflated he could double as an airbag.

That ain't sexy, dude.

Now don't get it twisted — we love a man who takes care of his body. Fit? Yes. Healthy? Please.

But when you cross the line from "I work out" to "I look like I'm about to challenge The Rock to a WWE match," it becomes less "Zaddy" and more "Mutant Hulk Who Eats Creatine for Breakfast."

You can't even hug properly. It's like trying to cuddle with a granite countertop.

And don't get me started on how some of y'all flex 24/7 — opening jars, lifting furniture, adjusting your shirt for no reason — just so we notice.

Sir, we see you.

We've seen you since 20 protein shakes ago. Calm down.

Also, if you're spending more time with dumbbells than you are developing emotional intelligence, let me be the first to tell you: we'd rather have a dad bod who listens than a muscle mountain who grunts more than he speaks.

Tone is hot. Total transformation into a human balloon animal? That's a no from most of us.

Calling yourself "Daddy" ain't giving.

Next up on the cringe parade: men who insist on calling themselves Daddy.

And I'm not talking about fatherhood. I'm talking about grown men who genuinely think "Honey, daddy's home" is the height of seduction.

I once dated a man who loved that word like it paid his rent. Every time he walked through the door, it was, "Honey, daddy's home!" like he was starring in a cheesy 90s sitcom. And when he wanted to make out? "Give daddy a kiss." Huh!

I told him politely at first that it was weird.

He laughed. Thought I was being "shy."

I told him again — this time with eye contact and a firm tone. Still didn't get the memo.

He genuinely thought he was being cute, like this was some type of romantic seasoning.

But no, sweetie — it was giving ancestral trauma. It was like giving my real father c*nt. Do you get it?

Look, I get it — you're trying to be playful, even flirty. But there's a thin line between sexy confidence and us getting flashbacks to childhood and chore charts.

Unless she's explicitly into that dynamic (and y'all have discussed it like adults), calling yourself "Daddy" is just… icky. It doesn't make us want to rip your clothes off — it makes us want to call our actual dad and tell him to come pick us up.

So please, let's retire the "Daddy" dialogue. Or at least, leave it where it belongs: in the hands of women who ask for it, not as your unsolicited catchphrase.

"I'm an Alpha Male." Are we in a National Geographic documentary?

I can hear my girls screaming, "YES Jessey!! This is Premium Delusion Level 1000," for this last one.

The self-proclaimed "Alpha Male."

You know the type. Chest puffed out. Voice two octaves lower than usual.

Constantly dropping phrases like: "I lead, I don't follow." "I'm a real man." "My presence speaks for itself."

But then ruins it all by literally announcing: "I'm an alpha."

Whew!

You really think telling us that would make us tingle?

Sir, it's not giving sexy — it's giving podcast host with no listeners.

You see, real alpha energy doesn't need a megaphone. If you were actually dominant, secure, or powerful — we'd feel it. We'd see it.

You wouldn't need to give a TED Talk about it every five minutes like you're trying to convince yourself in the mirror.

Also, newsflash: calling yourself an "alpha" just makes us assume your emotional IQ is somewhere between a cactus and a traffic cone. Because no high-value man needs to announce his worth.

The same way lions don't go around handing out business cards that say "King of the Jungle."

You know what's actually attractive? Emotional maturity.

Confidence without arrogance. Leadership without dictatorship. Vulnerability without whining. THAT'S hot.

So please, next time you feel the urge to say "I'm an alpha" — maybe try "I go to therapy" instead. That line works better every time.

But if you're still lost on what women actually want, read this:

So, which of these turn-offs made you laugh, cringe, or scream "Yesssss!" into the void?

Have you experienced any of these in real life — or worse, are you dating one right now? Let's keep the tea hot. Drop your thoughts (or horror stories) in the comments — I promise I'm reading all of them.