Why Every Guy’s Go-To Question Gets a Hard NO from This Relationship Coach—And You’ll Wish You Knew Why!
Added on February 3, 2026 inASTROLOGY CARDS
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Ever had one of those moments where life throws you a curveball wrapped in a shiny red Corvette? Picture this: I’m just minding my carpool duties when a former student’s dad rolls up, leans out, and asks me out. Not exactly the typical “How was your day?” chat, right? Now, here’s where the stars get interesting—just like Mercury doing its classic retrograde dance, sometimes intentions get all tangled up, and what seems like a friendly offer feels more like a cosmic prank. I said no, but honestly, my mind was doing cartwheels juggling the awkwardness of rejection, nosy neighbors, and the swirling challenges of post-divorce life. It got me thinking—is “Can we just be friends?” ever really just that? Spoiler: as a relationship coach, my answer’s a big, fat no—and here’s why that’s less about me and more about the universe’s odd sense of humor. Ready to dive into the cosmic complexities of friendship, boundaries, and the red flags that orbit around the simple question, “Can we be friends?” Hang tight; this ride’s got more twists than my ex’s explanations. LEARN MORE.
One afternoon, while I was supervising carpool, a former student’s parent drove up in his impeccable red Corvette, leaned out the window, and said, “Tara, would you like to go out sometime?”
I said to him, “No, I’m sorry. I’m just not dating right now.” The latter wasn’t true, but I felt like I needed an excuse to bring this rejection home. When he’d found out I’d gotten separated a few months prior, he’d parked his car and walked to stand next to me as I directed cars.
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“Hello,” I said politely. He skipped the greetings to say, “Divorce is rough, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. Divorce is awful,” I said, squinting my eyes at him. I’m literally doing a carpool right now. Do you not see this happening?
“How are you?” he asked after I said goodbye to a child. I again looked at him. “Uh, I’m okay. I’m taking care of myself.”
I work in a tight-knit community, and the news of my separation must have spread through the students and to their parents quickly. This parent, also divorced, had decided to capitalize on it. I was relieved when his daughter interrupted us.
Every Tuesday after that, he’d come to chat with me. I learned how awful his divorce had been and how worried he was about his daughter handling it. Divorce can be hard for anyone, but it’s especially difficult for children, research confirms. I talked with my direct supervisor about these “chats,” and she would come and stand near us or interject herself into the conversations. He was never phased.
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Mostly, I recognized that he was lonely and needed someone to talk to. Sometimes my boss was a captive audience, both due to our duty to supervise and the fact that we had to be polite to the parents of a student. When he asked me out, I turned him down for reasons that should be obvious. “Can we be friends?” he asked next. “I don’t think that’d be appropriate,” I said.
“Come on,” he pushed. “You could talk to me! I’m a great listener!” (He wasn’t.) “Thanks, but no thanks,” I reaffirmed. That ended our weekly chats. I was grateful.
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I could imagine this man’s idea of being “friends” as something akin to me crying into a wine glass and him being ready to comfort me with his mouth and tongue. I didn’t want or need that kind of “friend” when I have actual friends who have never treated my vulnerability like a cracked door they could wedge the rest of the way open.
In the unchecked realm of AOL chatrooms ten years before To Catch a Predator ever aired, a grown man asked me for pictures of myself with my clothes off because he told me that’s what “friends” do. I was 12. It was a short exchange for such a high-cost transaction.
“Can we be friends?” he’d asked. “Yes,” I’d said while my loneliness and desire to be accepted fluttered in my throat. “Friends send friends pictures,” he said next.
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If my lack of clothing were the price I’d have to pay for acceptance, I was willing to pay it. I just didn’t know I, over 20 years later, would still be paying. As a grown woman, I have received asks of “Can we be friends?” that always came with expectations: some I was aware of at first, others I wasn’t.
That’s always how it is: They come in with their platitudes and open hands, and you don’t even realize until it’s too late that you should have never let them in.
Friendships with some men have meant that I needed to be available to them; however, they defined that (emotionally, physically, and intimately). If I didn’t want to be their therapist or emotional affair partner, I was a “bad” friend. If they made a pass at me and I rejected them, I was a “loser” or “ugly.”
If I began dating other men, they wouldn’t seem to like the idea of another man having me, even though they didn’t have me. They’d profess their feelings for me, asserting they’d felt this way “for a long time,” even though we’d both been single at the same time previously. These “friends” also would often prove themselves not to be trustworthy.
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I once went to a party with a “friend” who promised to be my designated driver. I forgot that I was on medicine and I wasn’t supposed to drink, and I blacked out after drinking just one beer. I woke up in that “friend’s” bed, aware that my body now had memories the rest of me did not. Other things happened with other men that I remember. I wish I didn’t.
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What everyone does in an attempt to shackle chaos is to hold it at a comfortable, manageable distance. Rules based on experience, inference, and what research from 2012 mentions, rules based on inhabiting this body and on this body’s needs. I will not be friends with a man if they have:
If a man has been inside my body or has expressed any indicators that he might one day want to be inside my body, he doesn’t get to be my friend. If the first thing a man says when he sees me or my picture is that I’m pretty or cute, I’ll be disappointed, and then I’ll politely ignore all his entreaties to be “friends” or “colleagues” or “to network.”
Men who want to be my friends will rarely or never mention that they find me attractive. The most they might say is something to the effect of, “You look nice today,” but so infrequently that I’ll be able to count the number of times on one hand over the years of knowing one another. Those are men I trust. It’s a shame I have to say “no” so often, but it’s not a shame I choose to carry.
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Tara Blair Ball is a certified relationship coach, podcast co-host, and author of three books.
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