Men, p.6
Men, page 6
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Sex is the best, most exciting experience in the entire world . . . although have you tried sky-diving, scuba, hot air ballooning, bungee jumping, Billy Connolly concerts, Woody Allen films (full of wry observations like this one) and shoe shopping in the sales?
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Experts say women eat chocolate in lieu of sex. The truth is women have sex in lieu of chocolate. Buy a Mars bar. (Also insertable, according to the police who arrested Marianne Faithful naked with Mick Jagger.)
CHAPTER 3
Love
Love is complicated. Even Einstein never managed to explain it.
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Some people don’t believe in love at first sight. Some don’t believe in love at second sight. Love’s arrow can be about as accurate as Bush’s bombs on Baghdad.
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If you’re sceptical about love at first sight . . . make him walk by again.
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But don’t mistake lust for love. The trouble with the language of love is that orgasms tend to do all the talking. There’s nothing to say but ‘oh’ and ‘yes’ and ‘take me now’ and ‘mmmmmm’ as you finally surrender, blissfully, to each other. ‘Hormonal Houston. We have lift-off . . . We’re going warp factor ten to Planet Passion.’
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But there’s more to love than an all-night performance and a well-read penis.
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How do you know you’re in love? Look in the mirror. Do you have that jaundiced, ill look which means you have either just eaten a bad oyster or you’re coming down with the flu? Well, then you could be truly, madly, deeply in love.
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You want to use really insipid pet names in public. You want to talk to each other in totally irritating baby voices. You want people to roll their eyes whenever you’re around. Because seeing two people so in love, so united in mutual adoration, makes everyone else experience something they’ve never felt before – nausea to the point of projectile vomiting. New lovers really should have a minimum isolation period of, say, six months so as not to nauseate everyone they meet. ‘Um, can I get you something? A beer? A glass of wine? A psychiatrist, maybe?’
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Falling in love is like going to the doctor and being told that you need to put on weight.
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You’ll feel so high above cloud ten you won’t even be able to see it. When he kisses your neck, you’ll give a swoon worthy of a Beatles concert circa ‘66.
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You’ll feel so elated that you keep expecting air-traffic controllers to ask you to relay your position – which, at this precise moment, could possibly be on the middle shelf of the supply cupboard at work, or on the bonnet of his car in the upside-down-lotus penetration position.
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When you fall in love you have both feet planted firmly in the air.
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Love is just something to do when you can’t go shoe shopping. Otherwise you could end up with more pairs of shoes than the entire cast of Riverdance.
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Yes, it could be love . . . but then again it could be a chemical imbalance.
What men and women want
What you think of as love may be nothing more than MSB – Maximum Sperm Build-up.
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Men know that money can’t buy love, but it can definitely rent it by the hour.
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For some men, a lasting relationship is based on nothing more than a common interest – him.
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You may think he’s in love. But the only person with whom he’s capable of having a passionate love affair is himself. It’s a love story to rival all love stories. They should make a film out of it. Put it this way: when he comes, he calls out his own name.
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Women want a love affair which is so romantic it should be in black and white.
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Women long to find a man who is romantic – you know . . . the type who talks to you after sex.
Falling in love with the wrong person
Life is full of mortifying moments. Peeing in a train toilet, when the door is suddenly opened by a man and you’re hovering. Scales which speak your weight. Asking a friend when the baby’s due – and she replies that she’s not pregnant. Eating bananas in front of blokes. Discovering, during the over-the-head thigh exercises in your mixed Pilates class, that there’s a hole in the crotch of your leotard. All these things are blush-inducing, but nothing compared to the embarrassment level of realizing you’ve been used by a man. When you’re attracted to the wrong person, it means your hormones are in a bad neighbourhood and it’s best not to venture in there alone. You’re on the edge of an emotional precipice. Just don’t take a giant leap forward. Does the word ‘splat’ mean anything to you?
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You can say no to love . . . but sometimes it won’t listen.
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Fall in love with the wrong man and you could end up having a His and Hers Honeymoon. His in the remand section of prison, and Hers working two jobs to post his bail.
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Love should be classified as a Class A addiction. If love is a drug, you’re the all-night chemist. You need a Nicorette for love. A boyfriend-ette. If you fall in love with a man who is married or a major criminal – get thee to Romance Rehab.
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Yet despite everything, you still worship the water he walks on.
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Whenever you see his chocolate eyes and ready smile, you are suddenly wearing all your yearnings and desires on the outside, like the suckers of an octopus.
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You won’t be able to trust yourself to stay away from the man. You’ll have to put out a restraining order on yourself. You will have to have yourself followed by a private eye to prevent you from doing dumb-ass things like getting back with the bastard.
Falling out of love
(Otherwise known as – Prawn Cocktails for Two at the Last Chance Saloon)
A jolt of misery will surge through you as you realize you’ve been labouring under a delusion. You’ll need to join the Labouring under a Delusion Union.
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You didn’t fall in love, you stepped in – and now it’s time to wipe him off your shoes.
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Unrequited love – the safest form of sex. Stop worshipping the ground his head is in.
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Otherwise the United Nations will declare your love life a disaster area.
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Tell him that you’ll always love him. It’s just his life philosophy, pseudo-male feminism, rotten, ratfink, dirty-dingo lying and dress sense you can’t tolerate.
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Still, you’ll always cherish the initial misconceptions you had about him – the two-faced ratbag.
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Breaking up is a romantic 999. Give up chocolate. You’ll miss the chocolate so much, you won’t miss him.
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When you’ve been addicted, there are bound to be withdrawal symptoms. Although in time you will get better. Soon, whole seconds will elapse where you won’t think of him.
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Yes, it was love at first sight . . . But then you took a second and third look. It’s as if you were wearing a sign on your heart which read ‘In case of emergency, break’.
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Who would have thought the light of your life would turn out to be such a bad match?
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Think of him as toxic waste. In other words – dump him.
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If all the poetry goes out of a relationship, then it’s prose. Bad prose. Or worse – Jeffrey Archer. In other words – Prose-ac.
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When he asks you, ‘What’s up?’ just reply, ‘The warranty on our love affair.’
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You’ve being tutored by Dr Love – but on a Dr Kevorkian fellowship.
Reality
Love is hormonal hives. Curable only with a dose of common bloody sense.
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Love is a foolish longing for life without mortgages and dentists. Romance is love without real life attached. What women need is equality, not romance. Treat us as equals, not sequels.
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Yes, love keeps you warm . . . but so does a goosedown duvet.
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A woman needs a man like . . . an Eskimo needs a lawn-mower. Learn to stand on your own two stilettos.
Survival tips
Never move in a man you’ve just met. You should at least have things in your fridge that have been around longer than he has.
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Love is curable in a way that, say, a head-on collision with a petrol tanker is not. You will eventually get over him. While it’s true that it once took me two years to get over a bloke I’d never met – he was David Cassidy of The Partridge Family and I was pre-pubescent – I did ultimately recover.
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If you ever fall in love again, try to wipe it off your shoe before you walk it all over the carpet. It’s such a messy business.
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There’s only one thing worse than being in love. Being out of it.
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Love may be blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.
CHAPTER 4
Commitment
Most men like being footloose and fiancée-free. They believe in life, liberty and the happiness of pursuit.
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Women want to be head over heels in love. Most men just want the heels over the head bit.
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Women want to talk in the plural – ‘we’ll do this’ and ‘we did that’. We want the comfort of being number one on someone’s speed dial. To be cherished. To have someone who can do the harmony line on ‘I Got You Babe’. To laugh at our jokes. Damn it, a girl just can’t kiss her own upper eyelids. But while women want to make a Declaration of Dependence, most men tend to approach commitment like a naked guy approaches a barbed-wire fence.
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You’ve made your bed and now all you want to do is lie in it – with him. But most men don’t even masturbate over the same fantasy figure two nights in a row, in case she gets attached.
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During your twenties, you think you’ve developed tinnitus, but it’s just the endless ringing of wedding bells as all your friends get hitched. This is the time when a boyfriend gets increasingly nervous. He’ll begin to think that all women are husband-hunters, equipped with everything bar a net and a tranquillizer dart.
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To marry or not to marry – this is the question. A woman’s thinking, we’ve lived together, bought a microwave and shared a genital infection. Marriage is surely the next logical step? But what the man’s thinking is, should love be logical? Marriage is a natural progression – yes – but forty to fifty years of it? From honeymoon to tomb? Forty to fifty years of looking at the Cheesy Wotsits and chips stuck in her fillings every time she laughs. Is this really love’s greatest manifestation?
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Men think of themselves as a fine vintage and try to persuade you that a good wine takes the longest to mature. Women think that by thirty, it’s decanting stage.
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Some men are so commitment-phobic, it’s amazing that they can even commit to a wine.
Waiter: ‘Red or white?’
Man: ‘Um . . . white, thanks.’
Woman: ‘Subject, of course, to his indecision. He can’t commit to a wine. As far as he’s concerned, the word “commit” should only be used next to the word “murder” . . . which describes marriage, apparently.’
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A woman knows that it’s natural to get all tied up in knots about tying the knot. But whatever your joint emotional misgivings, she’s sure you can work them out . . . The man is thinking, why is it that people are always using the word ‘work’ next to the word ‘marriage’? Oil rigs you work on. Key accounts. Yachts, as a deckhand. But a relationship should be a retreat from all the things you work on.
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For most men, love is just a four-letter word . . . Ask him if he loves you and the most articulate man on the planet will suddenly take on the speech patterns of an android from Robots from Planet Bastard.
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Ask a man if he loves you and he’ll become so enigmatic he’ll be harder to read than advanced trigonometry.
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As he surveys you with all the enthusiasm one gives an approaching traffic warden, you will feel bewildered. It’s not like you’re asking him to slay a dragon or pull a sword out of a stone. All you’re asking is that he uses the L word. It’s not the sort of question you have to swot for.
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Mention the L word and he’ll go out to buy a packet of cigarettes . . . and won’t come back for two years. When he finally walks back in the door, just look at him and say, coolly ‘Didn’t they have your brand?’ Then introduce him to your new boyfriend.
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Better to find out he’s a commitment-phobe now than on the day he leaves you standing at the altar. The best way to get rid of cockroaches is to tell them you want a long-term relationship. (Turn on the kitchen light suddenly and see if he makes an instinctive dash to get under the fridge.)
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Jilting a woman at the altar is an act that puts a man on a par with a puppy vivisectionist. From then on, he’ll be known as the ‘Wedding Reneger’. Churches will burst into flames at his approach.
Procreation
It’s hard enough to get a man to commit to calling you ‘baby’, let alone to having any. The question is: how does a clucky woman go about finding a man who wants to have children? Perfume ads are full of promises of romantic attraction. Obsession says, ‘I’m a fun-loving babe.’ Allure says, ‘You’ll have to buy me an expensive dinner first.’ What we need is a perfume which says, ‘Fabulously Shagable Sex Goddess Who Wants You to Father Her Children, and I’m Ovulating Now.’
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Who would have thought it would be so hard locating a sperm happy to get egg all over its face?
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Some decisions can be put off hundreds of times until they slip your mind. When it comes to commitment to babies, most men are so indecisive they should consider joining Procrastinators Anonymous – except he’ll keep postponing the appointment.
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When you’re waiting for a man to commit, you feel as though your destiny has been rerouted to one of those call centres in India where you listen to mangled versions of all your old favourites. ‘Your call is important to us, but we’re putting you on hold for the rest of your natural life.’
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Don’t wait too long for a man to rise to the occasion, procreation-wise. You don’t want to become a granny test-tube mum.
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Most blokes could hold workshops on non-occasion-rising.
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Your only commitment will be to an institution for the criminally insane for ever thinking you wanted to marry a commitment-phobic man like him.
CHAPTER 5
Marriage
The general consensus is that everybody should marry. It’s natural. Unless you’ve got a very good excuse: you know, that you’re a lesbian or a eunuch or are so visually challenged that you need to get your mirrors insured.
And yet, marriage statistics are currently lower than Britney Spears’ bikini line. And I’m sure it’s women who are getting PMT – Pre-Monogamy Tension.
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Marriage suits men much more than women. Married men live longer than single men, and have less heart disease and fewer mental problems, whereas single women live longer than married women and have less heart disease and fewer mental problems.
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The hideous-habit ratio between spouses is about 100:1 in the man’s favour. They shed more nose hair than a moulting Labrador. Drain-clogging amounts of nose hair. They dribble pee on the porcelain . . . Post-Urinal Drip Syndrome. They leave matchsticks covered in earwax on the coffee table and clip toenails during foreplay.
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In truth, love prepares you for marriage the way needlepoint prepares you for round-the-world solo yachting.
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I can’t believe that extreme sports enthusiasts, otherwise known as organ donors, haven’t taken up marriage and motherhood as the ultimate risk-taking thrill.
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Matrimony would be easier if you could be strapped into a marriage simulator to experience the terrors and exhilaration: to see if you have what it takes. So, fasten your psychological seat belt for a bumpy ride . . .
Why marry, when you could just lease?
Female emancipation is one thing – but dying all alone in the bath and only being discovered because of an Indian summer and a fly swarm is quite another.
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Marriage may be an open prison. But being single? That is solitary confinement.
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A woman gets married to avoid the horror of having to hastily organize another girls’ night out on Valentine’s Day so that she won’t be tempted to kill herself.
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Marriage does have its good points. What a relief not to have to get naked in front of a stranger ever, ever again. Not to have to bikini wax every five seconds. Or lie on your side to make your breasts look bigger. The very thought of having a husband is relaxing – like looking at tropical fish.
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In England one has to get hitched to prevent hypothermia. It’s either that or thermal tampons.
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Besides, it’s true love. You’d do anything for him . . . Well, anything which doesn’t involve sex-change operations in Thailand.
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Which is why, when a woman hits 25, she declares open season on bridegrooms and begins the hunt for Mr Right.
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Mr Right? Who said anything about Mr? She’s not waiting for Mr Right but Sir, Lord . . . Marquis Right, at the very least!
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But panic quickly sets in. These days if your skin’s cleared up, you’re too old to marry. Men are walking down the aisle with a foetus in a veil.
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If only men would understand how simple the marital equation really is. Basically, happy wife = happy life.
