Where the Wild Things Are

what women want

I was raised in the 90s. All I care about is what I want. I was nurtured by a couple who lived the ‘free’ life of the 70s; my views are therefore laced by lofty notions of hippie culture mixed with the fancy frills of the newfound metro-sexuality of the 2000s.

·        At some tender age, in a candid conversation, someone near to me said, “darling, sense of humour is really what we are all looking for.” As trivial it may sound, I must say it is the hardest to find. By sense of humour I strictly do not mean the ability to crack sloppy jokes over beer and male-bonding…no, I do not care what happens after two men with giant balls walk into a bar….

If I am spending my afternoons lapping up Calvin&Hobbes, I expect you to have even 1/4^th of the humour quotient his dad has.

·        It is obvious you will love me for my breasts. Keep mentioning it to me; you will probably get more benefits in bed. Did I mention I was kinky? Yes, its 2012, accept that I am not a virgin and live with it. I cannot be a pretentious little pious nun, if you need that, look somewhere else. And shall we never discuss pasts? I really don’t care what you have been upto, as long as you here with me right now, not suggesting a threesome. NEVER, suggest a threesome. It is your fastest ticket out of my life.

·        Also the 3 Ms:  Music, Mary Jane, Martinis. I love them all, they form the core part of my existence, either you share the love or simply encourage it…just don’t get too surprised if you wake up to Nancy Sinatra crooning Una Paloma Blanca…I promise to love through your scotch snobbishness and not accompany you for sufi concerts.

·        I do not do adventure sports, I party and pass out and I cannot bear long-winding midnight phone conversations. You should be relieved. We should compliment each other and not be ONE soul, one entity.

·        I promise to see you through your withering years of erectile dysfunction as long as you respect that I not only like space, but I am absolutely menopausal about it.

We should learn how to love from gay couples. They know it best in their overtly kinky, colourful, confident way. I am increasingly meeting men who love to cook, so maybe showing off my cooking skills do not count but in general, I do not need a dedicated puppy, be a man; smell nice and enjoy dressing well.  Oh and P.S. I HATE holding hands.