It IS my business

There’s a lot of this going around nowadays: ‘It’s not my business.’; ‘As long as s/he’s happy...’ ; ‘S/he’ll hate me if I say something.’ But the question is answered in the Bible: ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ Yes indeed. Because ‘Happiness’ certainly isn’t the goal of anything. Happiness is transient, like Peace, and Joy...and even Grief. I’m not a Nosy Parker, and certainly do not welcome anyone to get into my business without invitation –still. When something is going on with me, I certainly feel that those people who truly care about me have the right –the duty, even, to stand up and speak. With or without invitation. You don’t leave the people you love alone, even when specifically asked to. You hang around, you call, you send messages –you keep telling or showing them that you’re there, until they realise that a problem shared is a problem halved. And so many problems have solutions. Multiple solutions, strangely invisible to the one who’s in them.

As adults, one of our biggest privileges and greatest burden, is the making of decisions, little and small. And while eating three chocolate bars for dinner may result in increased love handles, deciding to get married, or get divorced, or enter a relationship, or exit a relationship, change one’s job or go back to school... all these and more  set us up on a fateful path. We’re born alone, we die alone, and our paths are our own, but our journey is peppered with pedestrians, some before, some behind, and some just an arm’s length away. To live a good life, you learn, by watching the dude tripping and falling in the far distance, that there’s a rock there, and when you get to that point, you step over or around it. That’s wisdom. Then, you turn and help someone behind you do the same, especially if they’re distracted. That’s just good manners. It’s also good karma, and will come back to you. But the people you connect with, be they a field away, on another path, or walking shoulder to shoulder with you, have a duty to you, just as you have a duty to them. They should run across to you when you’re drowning, just as you should scale up a hill, to bring them safely back down. Discussing you reservations with friends behind their back? It’s not productive. It’s not loving. It’s a temporary relieving your own feelings. It’s selfish.

It’s NOT OK to allow a friend to go out with someone you find creepy or shady, for whatever reason. Naturally, you don’t go right up to them and say it like that (that’s just bad manners,) but after you’ve secretly checked them out, or figured out why you aren’t comfortable about your friend’s wellbeing –share the information with them, however uncomfortable it may be. It may hurt now, but there will be a whole world of future hurt avoided too. It’s not some accident that domestic trouble (be it emotional or physical abuse) goes on behind closed doors, and between couples of whom people will often say “They were SO happy together. The Perfect couple.” Someone always suspects, if they do not actually know. A divorce is like a death –you wish you could have done something. And the truth is, you might have, as a close friend. They do not happen overnight.

If a certain person is not the best choice of partner for your friend –you tell them so, no matter how happy and excited they may be. You encourage them to get a pre-nuptial, if they’re wealthy, you challenge them to ask the hard questions, those that need to be asked when two people are serious about embarking on a life together. You stage an interfriendshion. You protect them any way you can, no matter how strange your actions may seem. You do NOT ‘leave them alone.’ And you do not act like a banshee either. You begin any delicate conversation with: “I am your friend and I love you, and it is as a loving friend that I wanted to just say this:...” And bring up specific behaviour that has made you suspect that his situation isn’t ideal.

And... I have no idea where all this just came from. My pursuit of happiness today was limited to making the perfect egg... I’m almost there.

Hubby and Me

I’m alerted to the fact that Seal and Heidi Klum have ‘separated’ and have decided that my pursuit of happiness must now absolutely take on a direction OTHER than love and marriage. I mean, SERIOUSLY. The status of the institution of marriage has clearly surpassed CRISIS mode, and I feel personally devastated by this last blow...

I have just had a bar of chocolate, and will consider this the peak of my pursuit of happiness for this weekend. I have also sunbathed, had a walk, and am about to enjoy a cup of freshly brewed tea.

Earlier, I tried literally smelling a flower, but it just smelled like... a flower, which I don’t like anyway. Petting my dogs was imminently satisfying, and I’m beginning to think that having a dog might very adequately compensate for having a man, eventually. They’re always affectionate, never leave smelly socks for you to pick up, and never boss you around. It’s perfect, really. He shall be trained to guard myself and the children, and also have the best manners of any dog that ever lived.  I shall call him ‘Hubby’ and tell him about my day over a nightcap, when the children have gone to bed. And when I die, no one could ever say that I was that old woman in the corner who lived with cats. They’ll say I was the one who lived with her Hubby –which actually makes perfect sense.

Stats? 3 old Europeans, including a 50-year old Norwegian, just now, who looks like he has a record. 4 Kenyans, one of whom seems to expect me to jump at the chance of meeting him, and another who wrote to tell me how wonderfully he thinks of himself... I got to the end of paragraph one and closed the browser window. The other two just sound ‘shady’ and I’m learning to respect my instinct. This week, I’ll give myself a mental health break, and not check my accounts at all.

Hans has written me a sweet email, which has cheered me up, and an ex has just sent me a message that says ‘Happy New Year’... which should summarise why we didn’t stay together long.

I mean... Happiness CAN be found elsewhere -right?

A Pin in It

I need to put a sturdy pin in any interaction with my relatives, and press PAUSE to boot, because an older spinster cousin just sent me an email of encouragement on my quest to find Mr Happiness, saying, and I quote:

“... but don’t worry until you find yourself voluntarily taking up crochet.”

I’ve actually been thinking of learning how to knit myself a scarf, and maybe get one done in time for our next Winter (in June). From knitting to crochet is but a step, so I am now battling a spurt of rising panic, wondering if this means anything. DOES IT?

Incidentally, Hans has gone awhol, no doubt because of the excellent first impression I made on him –or perhaps he didn’t like my face. Or my butt. Or perhaps I bored him silly. I know he’s been ill, and that now he’s better, and I didn’t remember his birthday (though he was good enough to tell me after it had passed) but somehow, from what I remember of my personal experience of dating and relationships... there should be more, right? Like more notes, or messages, or something. Still, I have Plan Z, and between A and Z are 24 men to be slotted in within this year, all of whom can’t possibly be disasters.

Or perhaps they will. In which case I shall present myself with a Spinster-For-Life Award (including a fancy dinner for one and lots of champagne), and give up on the whole thing in favour of ‘good works’ ...and crochet. It’s traditional, after all, and I’m a traditional girl. That’s what spinsters did, in the 100s. They became charity workers and nurses and care givers, lavishing (or in some cases unleashing) their love everywhere else that they possibly could, since a man and children were no longer a viable option. In my case, happily, a child will always be an option, and I have every intention of adopting, whenever I get to that place where I am able to offer a good, stable life for a beautiful child with Mozart-, Neureyev-, Michelangelo- AND/OR Einstein-like potential. Hopefully. Or maybe they’ll just be average, which is fine, because average people tend to surprise you. I might be a little strict about the friends s/he hangs out with, though, because no child of mine is going to surprise me with a talent for pickpocketing or conmanship. No siree.

Recent developments? Really? Yeah, OK. I got an email from this dude (this is verbatim,  copied and pasted, I SWEAR):

“hi i saw your profile and I really like it wants to meet you, guido looking serious relationship kiss to start family”

I have no comment. NONE.

ENOUGH

So... I’m pouting again, but over a WHOLE other issue.

I’m at my Aunt’s this weekend, and we’re giggling about my so-called ‘prospects’ on the Net, and she’s pointing at a 75-year old with a spicy resumé, saying: “If you had children with him, they would be born 40.” I remonstrate with her, telling her that old people are people too, but when I go into the bathroom half an hour later, the joke hits me and I laugh hysterically for a good ten minutes. Then I come out and SHE’s pouting. The matter? Well, just the little one of one of her best friends (of many, many years, since they’re both in their late 60s)... is getting remarried.

Now, remarriage is generally frowned upon in Kenya, for anyone who wasn’t tragically widowed or divorced when they were very young, especially when they have children, and most certainly when they’re wealthy. But then there’s the matter of the suitability of the groom, and apparently the general consensus among their clique of friends and family (and unknown to the bride, naturally –and you thought gossip ended in high school) is that he is TOTALLY unsuitable. One of the most respected members of the family has indeed gravely pronounced the fact, and his view has carried serious weight. He is male though, and whatever his reasons, the women have an unending list of their own, headed by the fact that the man has a weak chin. I’m trying not to smile at this stage, because, aside from the fact that this is right out of Jane Austen... who can see a weak chin beneath all those folds? Still, there it is. And it is going ahead. The bride-to-be’s friends are thoroughly shocked, and deliciously a-flutter for the first time in YEARS. I’m thinking (as you do when you’re a writer, and completely wrapped up in your own issues, so that everything really applies to you –or should) WHAT THE HELL? She’s getting ANOTHER round? Where’s MY FIRST?

And I could have digested this and let it go eventually... except last night, I’m watching one of my favoured murder shows (Neighbour-Next-Door) and there’s this 85-year old victim at the centre of the reported tragedy –and even SHE was engaged, at the time of her death. I’m not even sure I absorbed the rest of the story, I was so outraged. I mean, ENOUGH already, ‘Universe’, I GET the message. And I AM trying to get off the shelf, honest... not very hard, but still trying.

My Aunt says that it will come when it will, and I should think of and do other things –which is certainly what I’m doing. I’m not reading Fairy Tales or watching the gate for a random White Horse (which are actually grey, and anyway, I prefer bays.)

So I’m pouting again. But only for a moment or two, because I may have identified my Plan Z for the year: a 58-year old Ausi who is waiting for me to fly over to him and get on the back of his Harley Davidson, so that we can (literally) ride into the sunset together... before having a couple of Ausi kids who will no doubt drive me mad with their love of bushwacking and walkabouting, when I can’t even handle the idea of camping out anywhere. 

A Slightly Green Tinge

So... one of my girlfriends is pregnant. She’s with child. She’s cooking up a person in her God-given oven. She’s... going to be a mother. And she’s not in a relationship; this was an accident. An ACCIDENT.

So my first response is EWWW... WHO is having unprotected sex in THESE days? Then I thought of my friend and decided that it was more likely a Ross and Rachel (Friends) situation, the 1% time that a condom doesn’t work. Then I thought that if she had even suspected this, she could have gone and gotten the morning after pill. And also a battery of tests. Because now, in a few short months, there’ll be a whole new person walking about in her life. A whole new person that she’ll be responsible for, for the rest of her life. A whole new person who will first look up at her, then make her life the epitome of the battle between good and evil.

There will be dirty diapers, and breastfeeding, and napping, and exhaustion. There’ll be battling the tendency of throwing the child out of the window after an afternoon of non-stop screaming, and the zombie-like sleeplessness of watching them sleep because she’s terrified of cot death. There’ll be the uncomfortable teething period, the graduation from crawling to standing, the panic of finding them wondering what a socket is for. There’ll be the separating them from another child’s hair, and teaching them how to share toys. There’ll be potty training, and a training to eliminate tantrums, and a new level of patience developed because of an extended period of them following her around asking ‘Why?’ after every answer.

In 13 short years, she will be conducting insane negotiations about curfew with a rude, pierced, marijuana-experimenting teenager who doesn’t want to go to college, but rather wants to take their ‘rock band’ to the world stage. There will be inappropriate girlfriends or criminally-minded boyfriends being sneaked into her house, where, the day after she’s done her weekly grocery shopping, the fridge will be half-empty. There will be doctor’s appointments and PTAs, and hockey or football games to attend, and headmasters to deal with and essays to correct, and tutors to be hired.

It’s sickening, and scary, and no wonder she looks like she’s about to pass out from shock any moment. Except she also looks more beautiful than she ever has. Her skin is l’Oreal perfect, and, unconsciously, once in a while, she does this thing where she passes a possessive, protective hand over her lower abdomen and smiles distantly. It’s distracting and annoying, and I won’t be seeing her for a good while.

...You get that I’m totally and completely and utterly JEALOUS, right? There is a distinctly green tinge to my face which is ANYTHING but l’Oreal, and after this, I’m giving myself an hour to pout. Just one.

Take Me As I Am

There is a Weddingcratic Oath amongst couples that your wedding day is the “Happiest Day Of Your Life”. It is also a blatant lie, no doubt originated by married couples in the 100s to encourage young people to marry since, through wedding planner documentaries and our real experiences (as bride, groom, or participant) we now know that it is actually the Most Stressful Day of Your Life, and only the culmination of a long series of Stressful Days no one would wish upon their enemy. That snapshot? You know, the one of the couple beaming as they stand close together on an anonymous lawn, the picture of All That Is Good In The World? It’s the biggest lie of all.

In a marriage, things are supposed to progress from the wedding day –not regress. As a guy friend of mine once put it, whilst arguing why he would divorce his wife for putting on weight, “I took her as she was –she’s not supposed to change, and change the rules.” Yet, change is the Constant of Life. People WILL grow, physically, mentally as well as emotionally, notably through parenthood. They’re supposed to evolve –I’d go as far as to say that we’re programmed to evolve. So ‘taking someone as they are’ on their wedding day (not on any other) actually implies acceptance of the fact that that someone will change. That couples do not realise the fact is perhaps reflected in the huge change that the institution of marriage has suffered over recent years.

The truth is coming out, however, the way it usually does, not only through shockers such as 72-day marriages, but also by the social manifestation of any number of excuses for Not Getting Married, nowadays. Couples apparently need to ‘test drive’ their relationship by living together first, to see if the niggling doubts they might harbour will go away. If the fact that one is messy, is a workaholic and doesn’t cook will not run a partner off, parents may have some hope for a wedding taking place –but only after the couple has additionally test-driven having a child... or two.

At this point, a reasonable person might wonder why a wedding would ever be undertaken, since all of the components of a marriage are already present. Laws, as they are supposed to do, have evolved with and adapted to this social phenomenon of men not buying the cow with free milk amply available. They are helping couples to develop new reasons for not getting married, by protecting each of their interests and their offspring, through something called ‘Common Law Partnership’ rules and regulations –which are basically a new set of marriage rules. If it makes couples feel better to be married under a title that is not ‘Marriage’, I guess the Law is happy to accommodate them. A Swedish man I corresponded with briefly virtually told me that this is the status quo in Sweden, where couples can live together as man and wife for over a decade, and never take that final step.

Ironically, separation after 12 years of non-marriage is just as chaotic as going through a divorce, except even more so, since it must be determined who owns what before each Single Person can carry away what is rightfully theirs. People forget that marriage not only unites, but also protects.

I argued to my guy friend that, if one was willing to take someone through sickness and health... would he divorce his wife for getting so ill that she became a paraplegic? He was forced to change the subject, because his answer was ‘Yes’, and he didn’t want to seem shallow, which he is. And many others are. In this day of instant gratification, a non-functional partner is an inconvenience. So if he comes back from the war with mental problems, perhaps the wise thing to do is to let him deal with them alone, while we look for greener pastures. Our instinct for self-preservation now includes social preservation, and is more alive and well today than it has been since our days of discovering fire in the caves.  Girls want men who make money, and guys want hot girls. That either business or the economy might crash, or her looks fade, are not the stuff of the Perfect Wedding Day Snapshot.

Divorce is the instant remedy for THAT. Someone better will surely come along. It’s not personal, it’s business. It’s survival.

Perhaps, then, it IS best that Marriage be reserved for those people who truly understand its implications, and the real Commitment demanded of them. Those willing, even, to go through an analysis, either on their own, or through pre-counselling, to understand how they will conduct their relationship in such a manner as to make it a lifelong friendship. The rest can deal with their Common Law Partnerships and Pretence. I and YOU, should look for the Real Thing.

Men are in Luck –Women will date Anything!

When I was five or six, I had the very first ‘boyfriend’ that I can remember... Eric. I remember that we came together because we were both the first-borns of our families, tasked with the responsibility of taking care of our siblings, both of whom were in the same class, and at the very start of pre-school. We discovered each other and these remarkable coincidences when we both sat at the same bench, one break-time, keeping an eagle eye on our siblings.

To this day, I clearly remember feeling able to stare at him for DAYS on end, like I would an original Van Gogh. For Eric was GORGEOUS. I remember his perfect shock of chocolate-brown hair, and matching chocolate-brown eyes, which were wide and warm, and beautiful. I think he was the first and last ‘GORGEOUS’ boy I’ve ever ‘been with.’ Since then, somehow... I can’t really tell.

Hans and I were discussing the other day how our perceptions of Beauty have shifted, as we’ve grown older, but, at college, while still in my discriminative days, I was regularly shocked by what my friends and roommates presented to me as ‘Drop Dead Gorgeous’. I truly don’t know why any man would feel insecure –in reality, girls are ruled by their emotions, which colour and shift and distort their actual vision, so that, however unacceptable your looks might be to one girl (or even the world at large), three more would be quite willing to swoon for a moment of your attention. And sometimes, even if they don’t initially find you good-looking, all you have to do (if you are a man of substance) is open your mouth, for your entire appearance to change into that of a Prince. Women!

I had a gorgeous Italian girlfriend, in college, who could literally have had ANY man she smiled at... I won’t tell you how I felt when she came to visit me with Simon, whom she’d described to me over the phone as “... and he’s SO attractive, Ciggie –he’s BEAUTIFUL!!”

He was extremely tall, and gangly with it (no crime at all.) After an hour or so, I was able to perceive that he had very kind, warm brown eyes. But it had taken that long, not because he was unpleasant (indeed, he was mannerful, soft-spoken, smart, generally lovely, and just right for Laura) but because no matter what I did, or how many times I reminded myself of my manners, I just could NOT tear my eyes away from his nose, which was large... and broken.

Within that first hour, I had introduced myself to his nose, offered it coffee and biscuits, asked it how it liked its coffee, handed it a mug, and laughed politely at its jokes. It was only when his personality began sinking in that I was able to see beyond it, and even then, when Laura called me later for a What-Did-You-Think Report, the first thing I asked her was... ‘What is with the NOSE?’ Her answer literally made me sit down.

“Isn’t it WONDERFUL!!!” She gushed, giggling madly, “I just LOVE broken noses –don’t you?”

I don’t think I asked another question.

Another girlfriend ‘loved’ a man that looked that the dictionary’s definition of a twerp. Short, thin and bespectacled, he was alternatively mute or inaudible, which last drives me NUTS. I mean, I understand shyness, awkwardness –and even geekiness has its charm. But this thing seemed to have absolutely nothing to say for himself. For the two hours I had to bear his presence without relief, on our first meeting, it was like my friend had come over alone. And naturally, she was one of these bubbly, happy beauties you’d think would fall for a tall, hardy life-of-the-party type (which, incidentally, I instinctively distrust. It’s just as suspicious to assert yourself too much as not to at all.)

I don’t remember him much now, but I believe I did warm up to him a little eventually... but only because I tend to. I could NEVER believe that they would last, and expected, every time I saw her, to be told that she’d seen the light. And naturally, I couldn’t tell her anything about him except that I totally approved (OH WHY do we girls DO that?!!) when I was really thinking that he was a serial killer in the making. I don’t remember what eventually happened with them, but wouldn’t be surprised to find out that they were married with six kids. Life’s funny like that, and so are our impressions of people.

Yet another girlfriend dated someone whom I could only describe as... well, a clown. The freaky horror movie type –without makeup. A tall, LARGE man. Everything about him. Improbably BUSHY eyebrows, BULGING eyes, WIDE, flat nose, a HUGE bottom lip and no upper... LARGE teeth. LOUD, and BOSSY, and OBNOXIOUS (and sometimes funny, that’s true.) And when he sat down, he spread himself all over the place... I disliked him so, I congratulated her when they broke up, telling her, with the cruel blatancy of youth:

“What if you’d gotten pregnant by that thing? Do you realise what would have come out?”

I was speechless when she burst into tears, informing me that he’d dumped her... for someone else. I’ve dated my share of lizards (then wondered at myself) but, I hope, never a living clown.

Models are plain, as a standard, because they work as the canvases on which fashion-makers need to write their own script. Yet they are uniformly spoken of as ‘stunning’ (please don’t believe ANYTHING said on TV any more, by the way, because apparently everyone semi-famous is ‘gorgeous’ and that is DEFINITELY not the case. At least, objectively.)

Actors and actresses, on the other hand, are lovely to look at, because they come in all shapes and sizes, and may become attractive or less, so based on their characters. (Willem Dafoe is a GREAT case in point.) And I think that’s what Beauty is really like. Like Grief, it looks different on everyone. It isn’t shallow to say or think that ‘Looks matter’. They DO. But they’re also relative, and change with personality.

The way people say that someone isn’t good-looking is by referring to their personality. “Is so-and-so good-looking?” “So-and-so is a WONDERFUL person. So interesting and so kind!” And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. There’s much, much more to Life. And having an interesting personality makes you attractive –which is much better for you than simply being pretty. Beauty fades, as you might recall... and all that’s left is personality.

Still, the kind of Beauty anyone should look for in a partner, is the enduring kind; not objectively, but rather personally beheld. Agatha Christie once advised girls to consider how they feel about their potential partner when he has a cold (I think this goes for guys too!) If you’re still attracted to them, you’re on the right track!

FIRST DATE

My date with Hans was yesterday... and it was AWFUL.

For one, he was UGLY.  Except he was tall and lovely, with eyes in the perfect shade of blue, and a rather fit body.

He was also supremely BORING... except he was so open, we talked about an impressively wide array of subjects, and he was generous with his stories, making me laugh three times a minute. Turns out he also has a tongue-in-cheek, naughty streak, which is ALWAYS charming!

He was forbiddingly ungenerous –except he would have been willing to pay for anything I wanted. He was also considerate and girls, that’s the sign of a good man.

He was rather overly sexed, and pawed me incessantly –except he never so much as put a hand on my ass. (I was the one to ask if I could give him a kiss on the cheek, after he so gallantly dropped me home.)

He DID drink too much –except... that was actually ME. Having not been out for a good while, and refused a calming glass of wine by my brother, before I left for the date, despite the fact that I was slightly shaky with nerves... (God knows what would have happened if I HAD taken it) I proceeded to make the best impression by going on an unladylike, small bender.  The only plus about this is that I didn’t make my over-made-up ass fall over, in its Horrendous Heels –or otherwise consciously embarrass him... I think. OMG.

In other words... He was perfectly LOVELY. And what do you do with a perfectly lovely date?  You see him again. And if he’s made special efforts (battled his way across town, for example) you have to make some too. He was even good enough to text me, (as ordered in my best Nutcracker-style –not that I AM a Nutcracker, or that he’s the type to take it!) that he got home safe, God Bless his cotton socks.

In short, I had a perfectly terrible time, and don’t count on hearing any more about Hans... except you should!

Some of the Top Characters NO ONE should Date

Dating is difficult enough, but I hope that the Singletons out there (male and female) aren’t letting Desire or Desperation rope them into relationships with any of the following characters (more to come.) If you do suspect that you are already involved with them, act fast to save yourself. It may even be a matter of life and death!

FOR THE GIRLS

Girls, the Number 1 Character to avoid at all costs is...

The Nazi –The Nazi is a deeply insecure character, whose main purpose in Life is to affirm himself. It’s all about power, possession and control for this fellow; His Way or No Way. You won’t recognize this monster, at first. He has a history of presenting himself so well, that even your mother will be impressed. He’ll be Dad’s best friend, your brother’s hero, and will make your friends squirm with jealousy at how attentive he is to you.

Once he’s got you in his clasp, you’ll find that he’s suddenly quite clear about what you should wear, where you might go, and who your friends are, some of whom he’ll take objection to, and actively encourage you to drop. Eventually, he may even have a problem with your being too close to your family, because he wants to be the only one with any say on your life. He won’t want you to work, not only because he can’t control the people you come into contact with, there, but also because working will provide you with your own money, which means that he will not have the power to control how or what you spend it on. Better for you to rely on him for everything, you see, so he is truly in charge. If you are working when you meet him (which you won’t for much longer, if he is able to work on you properly) don’t be surprised to find him hanging around outside your office, once in a while. Though you might think it romantic that he’s come to see you (or take you out for lunch, or bring you flowers, or whatever else) know that he’s stalking.

When you put all of these things together, you can clearly see that a relationship with this guy will certainly end in tears. But you won’t be able to put it all together, unless you’re looking for the signs, because the Good Times with this dude will be SO good, they’ll almost make you forget about the Bad.

Should you go against him, fully expect to be punished. Whatever form this punishment takes initially (usually some emotional abuse, to make you feel small, insignificant, powerless, and lucky to have him), know that it will eventually be constricted only to physical beatings. At this point, leaving him might be fatal. Nazis are filing into jail in a steady trickle, having been convicted for murdering girlfriends and wives who have dared to pretend they can lead any kind of life without them. In what I call the Facebook murders (no reflection on FB) several women were murdered by Nazis... for changing their status.

And then there’s...

Il Bambone –The Bambone is the polar opposite of the Nazi, but equally as toxic. The Bambone and his mother have a love that transcends embarrassment, adulthood, and reason. You’ll be breastfeeding this dude from the get-go, because what he hates most in Life, is ANY kind of responsibility. Expect to wait on him hand and foot, because, guess what? His mother would. Further expect to be criticised when you don’t make the bed or fold clothes ‘like my mama does’. Their world will be turned upside down when you give birth, and all your attention is suddenly diverted to and focused on the baby, so fully expect fits of jealousy and not a few tantrums.

Still, Bambones are not evil men, at least, and might even make for great, and affectionate companions, for the most patient of us. The worries and angst they bring you won’t be from their partying ways, since they’ll likely be at home watching TV and pottering about –even when you’re out.  If managed correctly, over a good number of years, they may eventually grow up some, and make perfectly good fathers... Don’t hold your breath, though.

FOR THE GUYS

Dudes, wake up and smell your number 1 romantic enemy:

Miss Moneybags –This money hungry, gold-digging hussy has eyes for nothing but money, and she’ll do anything and everything to get her hands on it. She will agree with everything a potential victim says and wants, a great admiration for him, offer sex, and will generally be able to act so well like the Ideal Girlfriend, you’ll be floored by her, and inviting her into your life almost before you know it. High-maintenance and enamoured of the High Life that is accessible only to millionaire society, she’ll squeeze every dime out of any fish that she can get her hands on... until a better one comes along. Love does not live in this girl, though she may have a passing affection for one or two of her conquests, so beware of her sweet tongue –the words she’s addressing you are actually targeted at your wallet. She wants the best, and only the best will do. And the best costs money. LOTS of money.

Miss Moneybags is not one to stand by her man –at the first sign that your resources are dying up, she’ll be out the door without so much as a glance backwards, on her way to salvage whatever she can, in order to move along to her next victim... sometimes, in the literal sense. Several Miss Moneybags are currently languishing in jail, because they tried to fraudulently benefit from Life Insurance policies their poisoned (or otherwise involuntarily deceased) victims never even had a clue that they had taken out on them. Many more are out there, getting away with it, because Miss Moneybags is usually as intelligent and sharp as she is manipulative and calculating.

You will not recognise this predator at first glance, except, perhaps, by the cut of her clothes, which are from the high-end of the market (indeed, not a crime.) Ask her what she does, and how she is able to pay for them, however, and vague answers will be an excellent clue to her real identity. Never seen at the pub, she haunts top nightclubs, restaurants and venues, cultivating a crowd of high end friends, through which she has the best chances of landing her millionaire for Life.

And then there’s...

The Nutcracker –This gal is a home maker and strict disciplinarian (read, potential abuser), whose idea of the perfect husband is like a normal woman’s idea of a child. One short week with her, and she’ll have severed your nuts completely, leaving you an insecure, blubbering, servile mess. She’ll dress her man, feed him, tell him what to do, and generally takeover and run his life from A to Z.  When something isn’t done as directed, he should expect a tongue-lashing so violent as to make him burst into tears, pee his pants –or both. Later in the relationship, (and much too late to reclaim any respect or standing whatsoever) should he try to assert himself in any way, he might experience a couple of painful and humiliating whoopings, designed to rid him of the very last shreds of willpower, and vestiges of manhood.

Nutcrackers, like the best slave-drivers of the day, will often use their victims to the point of abuse, saddling with any amount of chores to do, while she relaxes and monitors him with an eagle-eye. Should her eunuch be able to give her children, he should fully expect to sympathise with and relate to them as fellow prisoners.

You will recognise this horror by the fact that, even on your initial dates, she will rarely let you get a word in edgewise, and will have a firm opinion on absolutely everything. She chooses her victims extremely well, and is easily able to ring them in, because these mild-mannered, kind men will find it difficult to say ‘No’ to a powerful woman, and hate any type of confrontation, finding it easier to just ‘let her have her way.’ If you’re one of those –grown some ball, and learn how to use them.

FOR BOTH GUYS AND GALS

The Klingon –Klingons, I feel, do best dating EACH OTHER. With any other partner, relationships are bound to be short and filled with exasperation and exhaustion. Klingons may be sweet-natured, caring creatures, but they are deeply insecure, and what they want most in Life is someone who will take away their insecurity through constant affirmation. A Klingon needs to be physically as well as emotionally coddled –and constantly. In a relationship with them, there needs to be lots of hand-holding, hugging, and ‘I LOVE YOU’s after ever sentence –if not, they’ll definitively conclude that you ‘don’t love me any more’ and become very upset.

Getting any breathing space from a Klingon partner is almost impossible, even if you ask for it in the kindest way you know how –they’ll wonder WHY you need space away from them, and deduce that... you guessed it, you ‘don’t love me any more.’ You’ll be surprised to find that your fights are not about anything more serious than how much you love them, which you might have to spend exhausting HOURS asserting, reasserting and proving.

Because of their insecurity, Klingons are extremely jealous, so if your fight isn’t about how much you love them; it’s probably about how much attention you recently paid to someone else. They are like two-year old toddlers with abandonment issues, and their partner is forced to act like a reassuring parent.

On the flip side, Klingons are extremely loyal and giving creatures, though this trait proceeds from gratitude for your attention, which isn’t exactly healthy. 

Roses, Romance & Rubbish

I grew up reading Fairy Tales (… and admit that I occasionally still do. There are some SUPER potential plots in there!) They made me feel warm and excited about my romantic future. You know, about the Prince I’d once meet… perhaps dressed in pauper’s clothing. The way he’d rescue me from a car accident, or professional suicide, or perhaps be my defendant in court (I was going to be a lawyer,) naturally completely innocent of a horrendous charge, from which I would heroically save him –or vice versa. He would be tall and dark (still my preferences) with beautiful blue or green or chocolate eyes, which would speak love to me from across the room. Naturally, after the drama was over, we would get married in a huge ceremony that would leave even the bishop in tears (no measly local pastor would do) and live in glorious happiness ever after.

As I grew up, I wasn’t daunted by the fact that Players had begun to infest society, and that Divorce was no longer a scandal, but rather a piece of paper hundreds of spouses were signing casually during a spare moment. It didn’t worry me that, as I progressed from class to class and grade to grade, graduation to graduation, more and more of my fellow students came from broken or breaking homes, some of them suffering cruelly under terrible emotional stability. MY story was set in stone. Even as I studied, my confidence was set in the fact that my Prince (a few years older than me) was also studying, graduating –and looking for me. While in the Fairy Tales, he might have been in his Palace, restlessly ordering portrait after portrait of potential brides from all four corners of the Earth, and increasingly despairing as they arrived, my modern Prince was carefully dating, and with each disappointment, he was forming a better and clearer picture of the person he really wanted in his mind and heart –a portrait of me.

By the time I came to a marriageable age, and we met, he’d know immediately that I was the One for him, and woo me in ways that would embarrass me pleasurably , suffuse my friends in envy, and make my family proud. When I finally said ‘Yes’ (the Fairy Tales rules dictate that you don’t accept right away –there must be a period of pining for the Prince) it would be one evening after dinner, which we would have had under the stars, somewhere in Italy, where I would have gone on a Art History trip, and he’d found out and followed me. As the huge ring (sapphires and diamonds) was reverently slipped on, violins would play a crescendo, suddenly, out of nowhere, the restaurant owner would break out champagne on the House, and all the other patrons would be brought to tears by the sealing KISS of True Love…

I was NOT insane, I knew. I had read accounts of Wallis Simpson and her Prince, of Grace Kelly and hers, and even knew that a recent English King had Gone Against Tradition and fought for and got a Commoner wife. I mean, even Eliza Dolittle had found a man to love her. These things DID happen, and so I clung to my dream despite various negative accounts from my friends about their own romantic lives, both in High School and University. THEY were chasing common ‘boys’. For the longest time, I was happy to be a virgin and unencumbered by ‘I think Simon’s going to dump me’s and ‘Ted likes Rita more than me’s and ‘Sven won’t F-ING COMMIT!!!’s. MY Prince was well on his way, and since Life (and Love) is what happens to you while you’re doing other things, I was happy to do them. I studied and danced and got a job, and went on day trips to the beach, and bought and tried makeup, and had long academic debates and watched movies, and read… My Prince was coming.

A few short years later, I was Carrie from Sex and the City, except without a SHRED of romanticism left in me. I’d never liked flowers, but now I hated the sight of them. I bought boxes of chocolate for myself, and felt no shame in it. I dumped date after date, to the point were I couldn’t even fake any concern when they were hurt –they were not HIM, and I blamed them for confusing me into thinking that they were, and wasting my time. I got lonely and dated so as not to be alone, but was hardly invested in having any potential relationship, and was quite equal to ending it suddenly, when boredom reached a maximum –once by text (for which I feel ashamed, because there is NO excuse for bad manners.) I also once dumped a man who was wooing me… because he wrote me a poem. He was clearly living in La-la land. A few years later, another man who was wooing me, whom I really liked and was considering getting into a relationship with… sent me 400 roses at work. FOUR HUNDRED. That was the end of that. (I KNOW. I’m crazy.)

I was on a rapid spiral of deteriorating belief in Romance, and becoming more focused on Reality. And Reality dictates that the perfect man should be intelligent, hard-working, honest, steadfast and committed. How many of THESE I’ve met you are free to guess, a clue being the very existence of this blog. Weddings began to make me cringe as my cynicism grew, to the point where, now, the only wedding I want is the EXACT one conducted between Derek Shepherd and Meredith Grey, in Grey’s Anatomy (not the post-it one, the Real one, at the courthouse. “No fuss, no muss.” Perfect. It took all of 20 seconds.) Incidentally, my current Prospect completely disagrees, and is talking EVENING PROGRAMS. (No, I won’t put an end to it because of that. I’ve grown up –some.)

Point is… it’s sad. Hardly any girls are growing up with romantic ideals, and somehow, they’re GOOD for you. It’s lovely to have hope and faith that your Prince is coming –somewhere deep in me, I guess I still believe… which is why I’m still on the lookout. I don’t WANT to be bitter and twisted in my old age. I want to be before a fire, huddled up next to my charmingly shriveling husband of 200 years, chatting softly about our great-great-great-GREAT-grandchildren’s progress in school, and wondering at ‘how the world has changed.’

He’s OUT there. I have to believe it. If you’re Single, you do too!

I don’t need a man… Or do I?

Speaking to a beautiful young cousin of mine, this weekend, I was APPALLED at her attitude to Love. She ‘pooh-poohed’ anything I had to say about dating, and frankly laughed in my face when I talked of marriage. She will NOT, not emphatically told me, be marrying ANYONE. EVER. PERIOD. When I asked why, she looked at me as though the streak of insanity she had always suspected ran through me was proving to be a reality. Then she smiled almost pityingly at me, and said ‘But why would anyone get married except for money? Men are of absolutely no use to anyone! Who needs them?’ I immediately felt stupid, not only because, factually, it’s true, but because I saw that my next argument, that True Love was NOT extinct, and that there were decent worthwhile men out there and that she would surely find the Love of Her Life… were not proving true for me either. YET.

Do women, in fact, NEED  to have a man in their lives any more? The short, factual answer to this question is No. It isn’t an accident that the Single Parent in the now legally recognized Single Parent Family and Home almost equals the Mother (it did, in my cousin’s case). Women are smart and enterprising, which means that they are well able to rule, manage, delegate, discipline, love, nurture, provide as well as contribute. Women are programmed to come through for their children, even against the worst odds –they are survivors. And even the weakest woman has overwhelming strength inside of her. With a healthy store of well preserved sperm, women could manage the Earth very well indeed, all by themselves. But all that the activity of living makes us, is a human being. I believe that for a woman to be a woman, there have to be men around. It is the man that makes a woman a woman.  We are two halves of a healthy whole.

We want a man in our lives, because he will (or should) allow us to be the women we are designed to be: Feminine, nurturing, expressive, intuitively smart, a pillar of strength and staunch loyalty; a little coquette, a little colourful, a soupçon of contrary, and with the potential to exasperate a man just enough to keep it interesting.

In today’s social environment and financial climate, women should work and help to provide for their households, but men were traditionally the providers, because THAT was their work and women did everything else. Women now compete, not only with one another, but with men –for opportunities, jobs, promotions… It’s incredibly unattractive. Societally, it is also proving to destructive.

Because more and more women are having to take on male roles, the woman in us is slowly disappearing, which your grandparents can both assure you is a sight for sore eyes. From the back, it is often easy to confuse a female college student from a male one. Femininity is all but dead. Even when they are dressed for work, professional women do not look feminine, because their ‘power suits’ are designed to look aggressive, rather than disarming. And even the most well cut dress couldn’t save some of these professional women, who, though they may look stunning, when still, walk like male athletes. You’ll recognize them easily, because when they sit down, they forget that they aren’t wearing jeans (I may be one of these!)

Women talk as loudly as men, if not louder, are just as aggressive, and there is practically no social code of manners to save them, because etiquette is now a SCHOOL you go to, and the social trend is just to ‘be who you are’. I say it is absolutely possible to be genuinely yourself, and express yourself mannerfully, and with pride in one’s femininity. It was as a response to our femininity, and with great respect for it, that chivalry was originally the norm –in all classes, everywhere. Men stepped aside to let women go first, because the man is supposed to safeguard the softer (not weaker) sex, the sex from which the human race is able to reproduce. For the same reason, men walked on the inside of the sidewalk, because, should a car come careening off it and towards them, he would be hit first. The only remnants of that age when womanhood was socially respected,  is the call, in an emergency, for ‘Women and Children’ to be rescued first. And I fully prepared to see this eventually disappear too, or turn into ‘Adults with children’.

Now, if a man throws a woman out of the way to get in a queue first, or pushes her aside in the supermarket, no eyebrow will be raised anywhere. Naturally, since women have now become harpies with the manners of fisherman’s wives in the marketplace, no eyebrow will be raised either, if she aggressively pushes him back, and yells at him in the foulest language as she does so –with her children watching. The softer world of women is gone. The modern woman’s face is drawn, predatory and stressed. Modern mothers are more impatient with their children than indulgent. There is less cherishing and affection, but more criticism and pointing of fingers. Less emotional investment in children, and more financial investment, in babysitters, schools and counseling –because, why even talk to your child about their problems, when someone else can do it for you? As a result, high schools and universities yearly churn out young adults full of education, and empty of confidence, self-love and direction. Which makes them angry, and more likely to be influenced negatively, in a bid to fit in anywhere.

I’ve always thought it insane for anyone to tell a child to ‘grow up’. Childhood is meant to be a protected learning process, the happy place of sweet and fond memories to the adult now facing adult responsibility. No one should wish adulthood on a child. Both child and parent should enjoy the development process. Now, there are innumerable angry adults walking around, taking it out on drink, drugs, subordinates at work, the cashier at the bank, their partners, and on society, through crime. Innumerable emotionally neglected teenagers taking the wrong path because they are wrapped in insecurity, and have no direction in their lives.

But I’ve digressed! Point was… I DO want a man!

Hans has asked me on a date, and I said… ‘Yes’. Of COURSE I said ‘Yes’. Actually, I first said ‘Yes, yes, YES!’ aloud –but I meant ‘Yes,’ which is what I told him, because it’s IMPORTANT to keep your cool when, after three centuries of nothingness, you’re suddenly faced with a Serious Prospect. And keeping your cool does not involved running up the walls, devastating your cupboard, and beginning to apply all the face packs you might have, all at once. Nor did I do any of these things. I really didn’t. I’m thinking about it, but I haven’t. Nor will I. He’s ‘just a guy’, after all. A lovely, funny, interesting, warm… erm… In short, JUST a guy.

Wish me luck!

The Third Date is NOT the Sex Date

I am reading through ‘Act Like a Lady, Think Like A Man’ by Steve Harvey, again (if you’d like to know where to get a FREE copy, please write) and am thinking again about why experts advise against having sex with a man too soon. 

Men like sex –they’re programmed to spread their seed as far and wide as possible, and, evidently, they’re doing it quite happily, whether married or no. Sex is an appetite, and, just like a meal, it is often soon forgotten, once ingested. They’ll do it with anything attractive to them (barring that, just anything) that is available, and because they’ve satisfied their appetite, they’re gone… though they may frequent the same establishment again, if the food was good. And remains available. But there will be no commitment there. Indeed, commitment will be difficult, under these circumstances, unless you interact and see each other frequently. 

Takeaway food is faceless, and so is ‘takeaway sex’. The man isn’t making love to YOU, he’s satisfying his appetite. For this reason, you do NOT have sex with a man you are dating, until you are sure that he will not be making love (satisfying his appetite) but making love to YOU. True love-making involves personal, emotional interaction, and not simply a series of moves. I don’t know where the Third Date rule came from, but it’s completely wrong. By the third date, the only thing the man knows for sure is whether he wants to take you to bed or not… But then, he knew that on the first date. 

It may not take 90 days. It may take more –or less. But the premise is the same. There must be significant investment on both sides. Be Expensive. Don’t be a takeaway! 

I am ending this post with SINCERE, WHOLEHEARTED thanks to all who might have sent up a prayer for me, or talked to Jesus personally on my behalf because… I’ve hit GOLD! 

A couple of posts ago, a mentioned my SINGLE viable prospect of the moment, a 32-year old German? (We’ll call him Hans.) Well, today, he WROTE. And he wrote beautifully. And if you can’t tell, yet, I’m EXCITED! So, I wrote him back, and I’ll just tell you to watch this space for (discreet) developments!

WHERE Is JESUS?

So let see here…. On my last count, I have the following prospects today:

James (Englishman, 48) –James is quite happy to tell me that his best feature is his butt… but he offers no photo, and no personally written profile. Not even a paragraph, to show what he might really like. All he’s written is a non-sentence about what he’s looking for, and I quote:  “honest woman.” You just KNOW this man isn’t going to get any answer from me… or any other person out there who isn’t desperate. He’s offering absolutely ZERO of himself.

Oh, one last thing about James? His age range is TWENTY-TWO to FIFTY. A forty-eight year old looking for anyone over half his age is in serious denial of his own –and practically a criminal. Yes. James is DEFINITELY out.

Zacchiah (Kenyan, 34) –This man has a smiling photo (it’s OK) and fits my profile age requirements, which was promising, as it proves he can read. Promising, until I saw that his profile is practically the same as James’, he actually has a degree… and is willing to date NINETEEN year olds. His three-word profile contribution as to what he’s looking for is, and I quote: “adventurous sexy personality.” SO out. But then, I was intrigued, because this character actually has a PLATINUM membership on the dating site, so when he sent me an actual message, I was eager to read it. Quoting again:

Subject: mmmmmmmmhhhh

i like what i read but only ebony sexcites yu apparently....

COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY OUT. Might have to be BLOCKED, in case of potential follow up traumatic messages.

James (Englishman, 42) –Just out of my age range, smart photo, and a professional. All good until, quoting again: “I am looking for a wife girlfriend friend.” He's out.

Mark (Irishman, 40) –Looking for marriage (Perfect.) The sum total of whom he is looking to marry, however, is apparently “a beautiful woman.” (Not so good –is he shallow or looking for arm-candy?)

Claims he’s calm, loving, honest and faithful… which doesn’t explain why he’s currently separated, which status takes him out of the running, despite quite a nice photo.

Now, I’m not JUDGING him because he’s separated, but being separated implies an entire Pandora box of trouble. Why separate and not divorce? Is he in the process of divorcing? Is he thinking about getting back together with his wife? Is there a super acrimonious diving of the property thing going on? It’s a can of worms, and I’m not going there. Sorry Mark. But bless you.

Peter (German, 53) –WAY out of my age range, but what a lovely profile photo. And then you come to what he says about who he is and what he wants, and well… NO. Though he sounds a generous and kind person, what he’s offering straight out is too much information , the gist of which is that he fell to pieces after loosing his first wife. You can sense he’s desperate… and also very unhappy, which makes me feel sad for him. Not for me, but I wish him well.

Thomas (Hungarian, 30) –Just out of my age range, and with a photo that shows him dressed like a teenager about to go out on his skateboard. NO. He doesn’t say anything about himself, and in the space designed for him to tell the world what he is looking for, he says (I’m translating from awkward English) that he doesn’t want to be commonplace, and the personal impressions are the most important thing. Fine… but if you want to take your impressions from physical meetings –why are you online? And why are you bothering ME, a gazillion miles away? It’s not like we’re likely to bump into each other. Hrmph. OUT. And annoying.

François (French, 30) –Reinforced my conviction that I CANNOT date anyone younger than me. Looks like a bohemian fan of anorexia (nice colour eyes, though.) The five words he has deigned to set down indicate that 1) He is a simple man, ‘just like the others’ (That’s just crazy –NO man is simple, and I want to know what ‘others’ he’s been hanging around with. Or actually, I don’t.) 2) He’s looking for a kind, open-minded partner. Yeah, but who isn’t? OUT.

Janne (Swedish, 53) –Out of my age range, no photo. Says he’s a “good man.” What’s he looking for? You guessed it: a “good woman.” WHERE is Jesus?

I am mourning a recently terminated short online relationship with an excellent Norwegian prospect that I met on Afrointroductions.com, whose single but fatal fault is that I saw early on that he is controlling. Very controlling.

Controlling men are insecure men, and often latently violent. Women are easily attracted to controlling men, because they are strong Alpha males. They often mistake controlling men to be protective men, and are flattered by the fact that they offer so much attention –but this is unhealthy attention. It is jealous, unhealthy possessiveness, and rarely ends in any good. Still, this man was a wonderful correspondent, and I am missing him sorely. ..

My most interesting prospect now is a 32-year old German living right here in Nairobi… I am currently debating writing him a note, since he sent me notification that he finds me ‘interesting’… but we’ll see.

My other so-called prospects could simply fill up a surgery board: 65-year olds with old heart problems, ‘active’ 70-year olds with potential hip dislocations, 79-year olds with deeply suspected brain tumours –obviously none of whom went to school, as my age limit requirements are CLEARLY indicated in my profile… WHY?

My current pain in the BUTT is a Kenyan, and what I can only describe as an ASSHOLE, who consistently refuses to be blocked, and sends me notifications of ‘interest’ as quickly as I can delete them. This ASS has somehow determined from my (VERY SUCCINT) profile that I am the kind of girl who gets turned on by a married man looking to ‘date’?!!!!!!!

 Again, I ask… WHERE is Jesus?

Completely frustrated, last night, I subscribed to three more dating sites… which might, or might not be the biggest mistake I’ll have already made this year. Pray for me.

Men are SO the weaker sex!!!

The little boy within the man

seeps out whenever he can,

takes shape in moments of great joy, pure and total and complete,

leaving the small child replete;

is evident most in times of distress, despair and challenge withstood

the child exchanging toys for confused adulthood

The little boy seeks the mother in the woman

so he can be cared for, spoiled and pleased

to rebel against, defend and respect and tease

These days the mother in the woman is pale and wan

She is more boy than girl, her softness gone.

The above verses came to me one afternoon as I read an article about measures being put forward for the Girl Child, and pondered… what on Earth is being done for the Boy?

It used to be that Fathers would impatiently order their sons to grow a backbone, but, for a good many years now, it’s been sisters and mothers, and girlfriends and wives crying out the same instruction. Of course, it doesn’t help that the Father is barely there, if he is at all. Single motherhood is now a recognized family unit, and one that is, very sadly, increasing in scope and steadiness. Women are giving up on men –and not as reluctantly as they might, considering the setup and increase of sperm donation and in vitro fertilization facilities worldwide.

It was to be expected that, as women became empowered, there would be a power shift between men and women –but when exactly did men lose Respect? Whenever that was, this SERIOUS mistake needs to be rectified. Men NEED to take their power back, because, not only do women NOT want it but, as they have taken up more and more of the relinquished control, a horrendous cycle has clearly been created, wherein strong mothers breed equally strong daughters and lord over weak men. Weak men who then go out into society willing to marry and serve another strong woman… or else become so angry with them, that they resort to their primal and single natural advantage over women –their strength. I cannot believe that the significant increase in violent crimes against women in recent years, which, each year become more and more gruesome, is any accident.

There is no discussion now about the slogan on a T-shirt that I proudly wore as a child:

“What Men Can Do, Women Can Do Better!”

But there ARE some things that men are designed to do better than women, without trying. Men have a logical decisive mind, and this makes them good rulers, in the household as well as at the office. The quest to find out “What Women Want” is a societal joke, but it is based on fact because –even women don’t know what they want, half the time. We were designed to be a powerful source of strength, but men were made the Head (at least, Biblically) to decisively harness our power, and guide and use it to the advantage of the family unit as a whole. It is not an accident that, before the Giving Up stage, most women go through a period where they are desperately trying to find a mate. While we function extremely well by ourselves, and were designed with marvelous powers of self-sufficiency –we function even better in a partnership. Women WANT partnerships with friends, colleagues, cronies AND a husband. We even want an enemy or two, to satisfy our bitchy side, just as the power of real men comes out when they are faced with competition.

I emphatically do NOT put my own sex down –I know too well what marvelous achievements we are capable of, even on our own. But I am a traditional girl too. And, though I am currently having a HUGE fight with God (but that’s another post), I am a Christian, and have never wavered in my belief of His existence, therefore the Word, which makes much sense to me, including with regard to romantic relationships between men and women. The Bible sets out the perfect formula, very simply and succinctly of a successful relationship: Man: Love your Woman with ALL that you have. Women: Submit to your husbands. Though I am emphatically NOT a Biblical scholar (nor do I care to be) and have no knowledge of the Jewish, Greek, Aramaic or any other interpretation of the word, I do NOT believe that the word ‘submit’ means that women are asked to put themselves below their partners in any way. Rather, I think they are asked to relinquish Ultimate Responsibility to their partners, as the Heads of their households –which I think works for both parties. Women are naturally enterprising and excellent DOERS, especially when they take a cause to heart. They are excellent givers, and, so long as their needs are met, will be happy, in these conditions to do almost anything. And so the Biblical formula actually reads: Men: Meet you Woman’s every need, with a loving heart and mind (Kindness, Consideration, and Generosity); Women: Give yourself completely to your man. Give him Respect, Love, Sex, Support, Ideas, Opinions etc. And then TRUST him to make the Ultimate Decision for the good of both of you, and your children. And this WORKS, whether a couple is deciding on where to holiday, where to invest, or what schools their children should attend. Men were given broader shoulders to take on Ultimate Responsibility for the couple’s decision-making, during which, naturally he should consult his wife thoroughly. When they fail, their wives are designed to BE the woman behind the man, and so-called ‘Pillar of Strength’. When they succeed, LIKEWISE. Women are resilient –much more so than men. But then we were designed that way, to be the Heart of the Home, whereas the man is the Head.

Trouble is, men have fled, and are actively fleeing Responsibility, and women have had to take over being both the Head and Heart of the home –which does NOT bode well for the making of a boy into a strong man. Children are not just children –they are adults in the making, and they differ in sex for the good reason that their responsibilities and purposes naturally differ –or SHOULD. Girls look to their mother for guidance as to the woman they should become. Boys look to their fathers. This has scientifically and psychologically been proven to be true. So what does a boy do, when all he has to look up to is a mother? Or a weak father, whose wife treats him like one of their children? Women ARE working out that having a husband they do everything for except bathe and dress is foolish. Better save that energy for their children. I certainly would rather remain single forever, than have a husband I have to rule, give an allowance to, make decisions for and resent all the while. I want a STRONG husband, who, as I take of him, will teach me, guide me, and work WITH me to make both our dreams come true.

In Grey’s Anatomy, one of the TV serie that I’m entirely addicted to, Dr Bailey, having just discovered that she’s pregnant says:

“Did you know that carrying a boy in your uterus means you burn 10% more than if you had a girl?... Men. From the very beginning they just suck the life right out of you.”

I think they’re meant to. Women are equipped to give, to bring forth, to generate power, life and all the rest of it. Without a giving woman, a man has nothing to work with. Men, who are designed to take. But what they take, they should work and return tenfold, in a steady flow of happiness and success, for both parties.

Men need to become men again –and even the strongest women cannot show them how. The few, proper Alpha males that are left in society  that are looked up to, those male leaders that have garnered and managed to maintain their Respect, NEED to light the Boy’s way again, into becoming a Man. A Boy Child Movement is sorely needed. RIGHT NOW. I mean, even those women in successful relationships should worry about whom their daughters are going to grow up to meet. I certainly do… and I’m still debating whether I’ll ever have children!