Sunday, 25 August 2013

How about it, darling?

When a young lad at work told me on Monday he had lost his virginity, I didn't know whether to high-five him or mourn for his broken soul. I went for the high-five, it being the desired response from him, to which the world had just begun. For that lad there are no foaming children in Syria, no troubles in any economy and no songs that won't make him dance. Welcome to the world pal- now watch as the women conspire at pounding and beating your heart like a piece of meat, turning it 'tender', eventually.

Of course, I share the same cautionary tale of any other bloke ten years older than he is. I should tell him to watch out for the crazy women but dance with at least one. To live whilst he is young. To try a nymphomaniac at least as often as he can, never getting too attached. I should tell him to risk it all, to run off with someone twice his age and learn everything she will let him. To stake his heart on a matter of pride, lose it all and spend nights yearning and listening to Leonard Cohen.  A month or so of wailing and drinking yourself to sleep is eventually good for the soul. I should have told him that women can make you and break you just as easily, and that there will always be another. I should have told him all of those things- the timeless lessons men endure in every generation but I didn't- I gave him the high-five.

I'll never forget the time when, recently single, I was fed up of women. I went along to a poetry event at the local college- thoroughly sick of chasing witches around the town. If I could only snare myself a nice girl- trick one into thinking I was sensitive or something. Someone a bit less hassle. There were two girls smoking, sat on the wall outside. I quickly established one was a lesbian and so focused in. As fate would have it, that girl was a keen poet that enjoyed things like reading and camping so, after getting to know her as 'a friend' for months, I finally plucked up the balls to ask a nice girl out.

Three years on, we've lived together for a while. There should be special lessons at school for surviving women. Whilst girls are being shown how to operate a tampon, take the poor sods to one side for an hour to let them in on the pros and cons of cohabitation. The list of things not to do are endless; as are the lists of things you'll do wrong and be expected to do wrong, being a man and all. I'm lucky- bloody lucky- in that the woman in my life isn't an overbearing, psychotic, un or over-attached, power-crazed, power-dressing nutjob- well, not all of the time. That said, there are certain little things you can do to make things run smoothly... and you'd be amazed how picky women can be about mess!

Thanks for reading, S


The First Lesson

Do the bins and wash pots,
Push the hoover, pair socks
Put the seat back- avoid extra strife

Pet the cat, not a dog
Watch her films on the box
Simple trades for an easy life.

Kormas shared, not Jalfrezis
Attempt to be less lazy
Think of her always before yourself

Visit her folks and yours
Do a fair share of chores
Or she'll put you back out on the shelf.

Reactions:

6 comments:

Ashley R Lister said...

You make relationships sound like a form of addiction.

(Insert vulgar joke here about 'crack')

Great post
Ash

Colin Davies said...

Noooo, as soon as you show any understanding of any of the rules, they change the rules. Now all men will have a hard time at least a month while we get used to the new rules.

High five for the post.

Colin Davies said...

Noooo, as soon as you show any understanding of any of the rules, they change the rules. Now all men will have a hard time at least a month while we get used to the new rules.

High five for the post.

Lisa Kelly said...

Haha I like this. I feel guilty reading it somewhat - but I like it!

Lisa Kelly said...

Haha I like this. I feel guilty reading it somewhat - but I like it!

Jim Murdoch said...

Or you could simply hang on for a messy woman. In our house I’m the tidy one and my wife is … well, not the tidiest of people. Her excuse now is her health but she was never very tidy from day one. She is, however, fond of … and this is my word for them … rules. She says if I had common sense she wouldn’t need to set so many rules but as I freely admit to having little or no common sense I can sympathise with her. What I do object to is the arbitrary moving of goalposts. Having a bad memory I never have much defence because I usually can’t remember what the parameters of the original rule were or when it came into force but I’m usually pretty sure that things were not always the way she assures me they were.

In many respects my wife and I are the least compatible people you’re likely to come across and yet somehow it works. And don’t give me that “opposites attract” guff because it is guff. There has to be some common ground. If what’s really important to you is really important to you then it’ll work out. I like a tidy flat but I can live in a messy one as long as I’ve got my tidy office to retreat to. So it works.

I never visit her folks. I did once, just to show them I was real and a decent bloke, but that was it. Mine are dead. I pee sitting down so I never have to worry about the toilet seat. We don’t have a cat or a dog and the bird won’t let you pet him. I’m in charge of the TV; I’m not even sure she knows how to use the remote. We like all kinds of Indian food. She’s in the States just now and has left me a selection of Masalas and Tikkas to heat up. I hoover but not as often as I should but often enough. The only really important thing is that she supports me as a writer. Others have tolerated the writing. That’s not good enough. That would’ve been a deal breaker.