Becoming recently single has presented me with a great deal of frustration, particularly when all I want is a good looking companion with no strings attached. I’m a busy lass with a business to run, friends to see, places to go and priorities that don’t include a relationship.
Men: don’t automatically assume women are emotional sponges, desperately grasping at your freedom to hurl out along with your Zoo Weekly magazines.
Let me lay it down for you fellas… with much love from all the women out there who are misunderstood.
I text to say I’ll be over at 7pm … I’ll ask if you want me to pick you up some take-away too. I ask because a) I’m polite and b) I’m freaking hungry, but because I want to force a romantic feed upon you.
Devouring my food, you knock my socks off by my clearing away my plate and rubbish – so I shoot you a smile. But no, I didn’t just envisage you being a domestic God in our new house. I’m just impressed you’re cleaning up.
Whilst relaxing on the couch waiting for my food to digest, the topic of your family pops up in conversation, so I ask a few mindless questions about them.
Don’t presume I’m internally assessing our family’s compatibility; I’m just bored of watching the ESPN shit that you’ve got playing on TV.
Feeling that my food is adequately digested, I decide to crawl on over and get jiggy with it – to which you respond with a resounding arrogant groan (loosely translated to “Yep, she wants me, bad”).
Well, I’ll hand you this one – the ‘scruffy relaxed look’ you’ve got going on is working for you tonight, but I’m also keen to get home to the Vogue mag I purchased today.
Suggesting to relocate the romp to your bedroom does not mean I want to get unnecessarily personal. Your lounge room is simply cold.
Lets fast-forward: It gets steamy. You’re good, it’s good, all is good.
Thus, I say so and you eyeball me cautiously.
Back up pal, I’m not cryptically insisting we date.