Lovely Jubblies

I want to talk to you about boobs. My boobs. I want to take a second to talk to you about my boobs. 
My jubblies.  My melons. My super duper fun bags. 

Specifically the fact that they are mine. 
This might seem obvious to you but to a number of idiots out there it is not. 

I own boobs. And the pair bestowed to me are on a rather grand scale. And for some reason some men seem to feel the need to point this out to me. 

On a daily basis I will have at least one comment along the lines of 'sexy tits', 'huge tits' and the latest was the poetic 'Hey, lovely big tits!' (These men all have a thesaurus it would appear). 

I have been groped on occasions unfortunately too numerous to count. Certain men seem to think that large boobs are a toy in some kind of bouncy fun factory that they can play with. 

There are so so many things I wish to talk about in reference to this.

Thing number one. 
What do you think you are going to gain from comments like this?
'Oh my God, you are so right! And actually very sexy. I think you and I should go and make sweet sweet love till the sun comes up...'

Thing number two
Why? Why say anything at all? Are some men's response button so absolutely ridiculously shortly wired that they can't walk past a large breasted women without the first thought that enters their tiny tiny brains leaving their disgusting little mouths. I know I have big breasts, you know I have big breasts. I thank you for the information.  

Is this the equivalent of 'Sorry, I think you dropped your wallet?'

'Sorry, are you aware that you have lovely big breasts?'

Thing number three. 
I don't dress provocatively. I am the wrong side of thirty for that. It's best for everyone involved, believe me. So it's not as though I'm 'asking for it'. I was born this way. Well, obviously not born this way, that would have been horrific for my poor mother, I was a big enough baby as it is. But what I'm trying to say is that it is the equivalent of walking past someone and saying 'You have massive ears' or 'Wow! Look at your super hot crooked nose' I'm not trying to draw attention to myself and they are not for you. 

And even if I was showing them off that is absolutely my choice and I should not have to modify the way I dress because some pea brain penis faces cannot control their responses or their hands. These poor, poor men with their Neanderthal brains who can't control themselves. I should wear dark polo necks all year round to not confuse these poor stupid creatures. 5 year olds know not to behave in this way and so should you. 

It makes me so so angry. I am not an object and nor is any woman to be made to feel dirty or guilty for their existence. We are not here for your entertainment and the next man who says something to me along these lines in serious danger of getting the response -
'Hey! My knee is in your crotch!'

Of course this is not all men, but take it from me, the numbers are surprisingly high. But unfortunately it won't be the ones reading this. I'd be surprised if they can read. 

How to be a better girlfriend

I am furious. My blood is boiling. I cannot see straight.

I have just read an 'article' (the quotation marks are a representation of me doing bunny rabbit ear fingers, with a tone of extreme sarcasm in my voice - I thought I'd better let you know, as these things sometimes don't come across in the reading), this 'article' is all about how to be a better girlfriend. This is a horrific enough concept in itself. Sure, I am all for improving relationships, with... Oh, I don't know, some new age concept, such as communication, but, this 'article' seems to have been written at some point during the 1950's. If it was, we could read and have a giggle and say 'How stupid we were back then, haven't we come a long way?' and then go back to waxing the cat. However, this was published TODAY. I will not direct you to the 'article', as it deserves absolutely no traffic. I will, however, share with you some of it's highlights....



5. Stock your fridge with beer. Never run out of beer when he comes to see you. A mediocre girlfriend will go out and buy beer once he comes over, but a fantastic girlfriend will have the beer already waiting.

Good Lord, imagine being only a mediocre girlfriend. The kind of stupid bitch who goes out to buy beer every time her man comes over. Presumably because she is spending the rest of her time writing poetry about him, or embroidering a portrait of him into her lacy bedspread. Now, that's the kind of unthinking woman who deserves to be shown the back of his hand to remind her who's boss!


6. Keep making the effort. Even if you two have been together for a year, don't start dressing like a slob and all of a sudden put on an abundance of weight. Of course women can tend to yo-yo, especially after the holidays, but if you gain too much — as superficial as it sounds — he is not going to be happy.
Try to maintain the way you were when you met him. Or better yourself because you are so happy to be with this man that you love to look good for him. Dress up at least once in a while. He will be pleasantly surprised and turned on!

That's right - you are so happy to be with the man, that you should be in a perpetual state of discomfort. You are so happy, that you should feel the need to 'better yourself'. Because, let's face it, somehow you fooled him into liking you for who you are, (well done on that witchcraft by the way!) and God forbid he finds out that you are human under that perfect body! May I recommend plastic surgery? Because, the truth is, you are bloody lucky he is with you now. In a year or two, he'll be having sex with his secretary and you'll only have yourself to blame.



 
9. Wake up with a smile. Men love a positive woman they can wake up to in the morning with the glass being half full instead of half empty. What will score you more points is to let him lie in while you make breakfast or serve him coffee in bed. 




Great tip! Maybe I should also iron his shirts, make his packed lunch and use this time to do my hair and make-up. Because, as in handy tip number 6, if he wakes up and I look like a normal human being, he'll probably pour scolding water on me, like I damn well deserve.


12. Remember: Food is the way to a man's heart. You do not have to be a gourmet chef, but if you have a few exciting recipes in your repertoire, then you will look even better. This is especially useful when he has his friends around. Give them their guy time and make food. If cooking is not your thing, have a great array of take-away menus at your disposal.


Yep. Make food for him and his friends. Don't talk to them though. They've been doing man things all day. They don't want to hear about periods and babies. Back in the kitchen, Sweetheart!



13. Learn his language. When he's thirsty, he's thirsty. When he says "yes" he means "yes" and not "no." When he says he's hungry, well you better get some food in his stomach soon. Also note men don't like to walk around when they are hungry looking for a restaurant as us women will do.

Yep, when he says he's hungry, you'd better get some food in his stomach, as is your job, in fact your only reason for being.
And man, us women are such stupid bitches, looking for restaurants when we are hungry. We should be happy to lick the chewing gum off the pavement just like he does!



 
I feel I've learned a lot from this 'smarticle'. I now know EXACTLY how to behave in a relationship and I will damn well make sure not to mess it up by in any way having a personality.

Phew. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really shouldn't be wasting my time writing, which is a task that really should be left to a super clever man, I'm going to go and curl my hair and bake a delicious apple pie to see if I can bag a husband.

Ghosts of boyfriends past

Everyone has some of those old photos that they would rather disappeared off the face of the planet. Reminders of a bad choice, be it a dreadful haircut or really really horrific outfit. 

These days with Facebook, these photos are even more accessible and even less burnable. Sure, you can untag yourself, but somewhere out there is an awful reminder of that hideous fur catsuit you were convinced looked amazing when you left the house. You were Naomi Campbell. No. You were in fact RuPaul. 

There was a horrific period, if you recall, in the nineties when lime green and fluorescent orange was for some reason deemed to be acceptable. And not, as it should have been, an arrestable offence. If you don't recall this period, I can only assume that it is because your brain has blacked it out for your own protection. 
During this time, I owned a bright orange skin tight Lycra shirt with a black collar. Feeling this wasn't ludicrous enough, I would often couple this with some Boyzone dog tags. Hell yeah I was a stylish chick. Without any friends. This outfit is etched onto the back of my eyeballs as a mistake that should not have been made. Why did no one do anything? Like push me down a well?

Luckily, there is no photographic evidence of this atrocity. Maybe because people who even attempted to look directly at me would have their retinas burnt. 

I have a friend who used to wear foundation two shades too pale. She looked like a lost Parisian mime. Did I do the honourable thing and tell her? No. No I did not. I let her carry on scaring children and dogs as any good friend would. 

This hall of shame is not unfortunately limited to clothing or awful haircuts. We can add into this mix boyfriends who shouldn't have been. 

Ah yes. The 'what-in-God's-name-did-I-see-in-you?' Museum. 

Everyone has at least one. I, unfortunately have several. 

There's the one who ended up in a mental hospital. 

There's the one who become a monk. 

The four, five or six who turned out to be gay. (That I know of). 

The one who left me for someone else because God told him to. 

I wish I was making this up. I really do. But I'm not. Well, at least I got some good writing material out of it. And some stories to laugh at with my therapist.

And I suppose in a way, we have to have these awful relationships to prove to ourselves what it is we really want. 
But do we? Do we really? I mean, I don't need to drink a bucket of vomit to know that I would actually rather have a cake. 

And yet, somewhere along the way, I really wanted to be with these idiots. In the same way that I was happy to be dressed like a children's entertainer on ecstasy.

They say love is blind. Sometimes I think it can be deaf, mute and quite frankly a little bit slow of learning. 

I guess all we can do is pat ourselves on the back for burning those outfits and ditching those awful men. This is what makes us become complete human beings. Right? Yes. Let's all tell ourselves that... 

As for that shirt, I have no idea what happened to it in the end. I must have seen sense and thrown it out. Maybe Lady Gaga has it? Maybe it is being used by woodsmen to protect themselves from bears. Who knows... Who knows.... 

The Ex Files

I like to think that I am a bit of an expert when it comes to relationships (How to avoid them, how to have a man never call you again, and generally how to do all of things that ensure you that you will die alone). Which is why so many of my female friends come to me for advice in all things romance.

Nope, I can't explain it either, but there we go.

Last night I had a dinner with a wonderful friend of mine, Emily. Emily is a lawyer, Emily is a tough, hard working, no nonsense girl. Last night, Emily was a blithering wreck.

I had never seen her like this, she looked like a survivor from 28 Days Later. I wanted to put my arms around her, to comfort her but I was scared that she would eat them.

Her issue was that her boyfriend of six months or so, was still in regular contact with his ex girlfriend and it was driving her crazy.

'It's killing me' She would say between downing buckets of red wine 'I'm trying to stay calm and collected but this Bitch won't leave him alone'

She then stabbed her chicken in a way to ensure that it was really truly dead and looked up at me with the eyes of a desperate woman.

'Aren't I enough for him?'

Let's face it, we've all been here. Especially when it comes to fledgling relationships. You aren't really secure on the ground you are standing and then there's this ever watchful presence of the last woman who owned your man occasionally throwing hand grenades onto the battlefield.

It's quite a dominating presence, this woman who as far as you are aware is prettier, slimmer, cleverer (wouldn't use made up words like cleverer), cooks, cleans, does charity work, amazing in bed, is an all round Goddess and you just don't match up.

Well, let me tell you what I told poor demented Emily from under the dinner table....

He is not the one putting her on a pedestal....

You are.

Of course every man is going to have ex girlfriends, unless you date a virgin, which at my age is a touch creepy. Or we make ex girlfriends illegal. I'm sure it's on the coalition's list of things to get round to.

Some men will stay in touch with their Exes, of course, as will some women. (Sorry, that was a bit obvious, if it was just men keeping in touch with their exes and not women I'm pretty sure that's stalking...)
But, and you will have heard this time and time again, he is with you now. He is not with her. And there is a reason for this. There is a reason they are not together and there is a reason that you are.
You can drive yourself crazy over it, and ruin your relationship or you can behave like a strong independent woman who knows that she is loved and happy and secure. I know which of those two I would rather be in a relationship with. If I was a lesbian. But that's another story.

The fact of the matter is that they are friends now, which is not a bad thing, a man needs female friends for when it comes to help in his relationships, it's very healthy. In fact, if he stays in regular contact with her, it will only serve as a constant reminder of why they aren't together anymore, she won't become this perfect mythical being that she is in your head.

You just need to get the image of them bumping uglies out of your head and you'll be fine.

Looking back on it, bumping uglies might not have been the term I should have used. We had to pay for a lot of broken glass at the restaurant last night.

Good good good GOOOOOD vibrations

Today, a film will be unleashed on the public. A film entitled Hysteria. You may have heard of it. And if you have, you will realise that this is a film, I simply cannot let slip by unnoticed.

It is a film about an ordinary everyday household object. And the origins thereof.

Yes. I am talking about a woman's best friend. Anyone, at this stage, who is thinking - 'Iron', is going to get a swift kick in the ankle from me.

I am of course referring to a single woman's solace, a married woman's guarantee of joy, a husband's nemesis, The Vibrator.

Any woman who tells you she has never owned or used a vibrator is a liar or a nun. It is the equivalent of a sixteen year old boy saying 'I can use my right hand for WHAT?! How very dare you?! I would never! I have exams to think of.... The very idea....'

These days they come in so many shapes, sizes, colours and creeds, the choice can be as difficult as deciding which chocolate to take in a big 'ol box of Milk Tray... You can even buy them off the shelf in Boots. (The shop. They aren't wearing boots, I think you have to go to a very specialist store for that).

They even come in a lots of different animal shapes. A menagerie a trois if you will... (sorry... couldn't resist) for the....umm.... discerning animal.... ahem.... lover..... 

There is the Rabbit... of course. Yes, we ALL know about the rabbit, but were you aware of the dolphin? The whale? And Oh My God I Wish I Was Kidding.... the HELLO KITTY VIBRATOR. 

Those three words sum up why the Japanese need to be stopped. Now.

The vibrator is no longer a tool for the sad single spinster. They are enjoyed by couples, frequently as 'spicing up' type equipment. Men even have their own fun jiggly rings of joy. 

Whilst it is becoming more and more common for women to discuss the latest in buzzing technology, it still remains a thing of great fear and excitement to men, a bit like a roller coaster, costs a lot, it looks fun and colourful and there's lots of screaming.....

But, one thing that scares them is, what if it does a better job? Will they be demoted? And why is it so much bigger than their own appendage? Isn't that just a rubbery smack in the face?

Well, they have no one to blame but themselves.

The vibrator was invented by doctors in the Victorian age to 'cure' women of 'hysteria'. The usual method of this was for the doctor to stimulate a women's vagina with their finger until they reached 'completion'. Men mixing their laziness with their love of toys invented a device to do the job for them. Which meant it was developed with a very male take on what women would find stimulating. Hence the supersized phallus.

If it had been invented by a woman, it would probably resemble a sort of tiny Ryan Gosling and would project pictures of shoes on the wall during usage.

It wasn't long before women were taking smaller versions of this 'cure' home, and funnily enough, hysteria suddenly became a very common complaint.

I am sure that no man, unless truly confident in himself, will believe me when I say no woman would choose a plastic wobbly device over a real, living breathing human. And why should he believe me, when he is told time and time again that that is not true?

Sex and the City, and any female orientated show is constantly digging away at masculinity and telling them all that they are useless and will never live up to the treasures that are nestled in Ann Summers. But it's okay, because it's always meant as a bit of fun, a little emasculating joke. 

Why can't we just tell them the truth? We would chuck out our rabbits, our tingletips and our black knights for just one evening with the man of our dreams.

But not Hello Kitty. You will have to fight me to get that one. 

50 Shades of Wahey!

So, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's been an ever so quiet discussion going on about a certain novel. It's probably passed you by, as it has barely been mention in the press, on Twitter, Facebook and every conversation you overhear. Hardly anyone has mimicked its title for comedy effect. It has its own sort of cult following. And if I were to spoon anymore sarcasm into this blog it would overspill causing everyone to be washed in a sea of low humour shouting - "Drowning am I?! Oh that's original"

50 Shades of Shite, as I like to call it, cannot be ignored unfortunately. Believe me I've tried. I threw a copy out of the window but the postman brought it back. I tossed it in a river, but it came through my tap when I poured myself a glass of water. This book is like a slimy leech. A slimy leech that I have unfortunately read.

I am not here to bore you my literary critiques or to tell you not to bother with this poorly written excuse for erotica. (Though I have achieved both of those things in the above).

What I thought we could chat about today is fetishes and kinky sex. 
Yes. That got your attention didn't it?

Sex. 

Sex sex sex.

A long time ago I met a gentleman. A very lovely guy, who told me I was beautiful and asked for my number. I wasn't even at a Home for the Blind or anything! Result.

We had a few lovely dates, and this guy was such a sweetie. And, it would seem, adored me. Which was, well... great! He was a handsome, kind, generous man. My luck was in. Right?

It was on, I think, the third date that he admitted that his sexual preferences were, well, unexpected. He was a little on the S&M side of the bedroom. And liked his women to be Dominatrices. I was, a little surprised. Actually, that's an understatement. I'm not sure if I would have been more surprised if he'd told me that on the odd occasion, he loves to sit on top of his roof, dressed as The Queen throwing fecal matter at passing wildlife.  

This was a gateway into a world I had never even looked into before. I know it exists, sure. It is like the holiday resort that you have heard tales of, and you are sure is lovely for certain types of people, (you know, those people) but really isn't your cup of tea.

So I had a lot to ponder.

Now before I continue that story, let me move on to the tale of a friend of mine - Andy. So, Andy and I were chatting recently about our love lives, sex and lack thereof. As Andy is a gay man, he isn't a stranger to the various sexual liaisons that occur between two consenting males who have met over the wonderful world wide web. So, not so long ago, Andy is chatting to a guy online and they are getting on really well, and have a lot in common. Then this guy asks Andy if he likes CMNM?

Andy is a little confused.

So before answering, he does what any upstanding (pardon the pun) gentleman would do. He consults Google.

So, for those of you uneducated types, who weren't aware. CMNM stands for Clothed Male, Naked Male. Apparently, this is a 'thing'. There are people in the world who prefer to stay fully clothed whilst others get completely naked. Often, I believe this can be linked to voyeurism. There are WHOLE websites dedicated to it! I'm not that surprised. I think in this day and age, you can find websites for everything. I imagine if your thing is men dressed as nuns on rollerskates you can probably find at least four websites to chose from depending on what colour of habit you would prefer.

My question in all of this, which is vaguely related to 50 shades, is how far should you be willing to stretch your sexual boundaries for the possibility of a wonderful relationship?

If their 'thing', really isn't your 'thing' then surely the relationship can't last. I know that sex isn't everything but at the end of the day, sex actually is everything. And if one of you isn't getting the sex they want how long are they gonna hang round. Even if the person fulfills them in all other areas.

In fifty shades, Miss Twatty McGinty (I can't remember her actual name, so this will do), pretty much gives herself over to something she isn't entirely comfortable with for a man she loves. This is not a great role model for young women who are ready to start exploring their sexuality. Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Eyre are far stronger than Miss McGinty. And they were written a long time before feminism, suffragettes and the sexual revolution.

Andy? Well, Andy tried it out and didn't find it too hideous a prospect. In the end, the relationship didn't work out for other reasons. So, I guess dipping your toe in from time to time isn't the worst thing. Don't knock it till you've tried it, so to speak.

Interestingly, I wonder, does having a particular, shall we say, fetish make it more difficult to find love? It's hard enough to find someone you fancy who like the same sort of food as you let alone someone who also loves to be tied to a car bonnet, covered in red paint and force fed fish. (Just for the record, I have not just let slip any of my own fantasies).

And me? Well, I don't have a wardrobe full of PVC catsuits and gimp masks, that's for sure. I think some things are a bit too scary, even for me. 

Checkout my new website though - www.dragnunsonskates.com. 
I think you'll like it.

The Italian Inquisition

Ciao!

A while ago I had a boyfriend. I know, I know. I actually used to own a man. It wasn't a dream or a lie I made up to convince my parents that I'm not a lesbian.

Unfortunately, as with all of my relationships it fizzled out. We both agreed that this wasn't going to work. At least, I think that's what we agreed, English wasn't his first language. And Italian isn't mine.

Although I loved the idea of a romantic liaison with a Latin Lothario it turned out to be very unlike the promises made to me by films and my Grandfather's Mills and Boons books (Yes I said Grandfather - Don't ask).

Rather than the full blown passionate love making for three days coming out of bed briefly to eat pasta like his Mamma used to make it was more like dating a wet dog. Who actually did make pretty good pasta.

Anyway, we moved on with our lives. He in fact moved to a whole different country. I don't believe I had anything to do with that. Not this time.

We continued to keep a vague interest in each others lives. Occasional emails that sort of thing.

Anyway, recently I went on a small visit to the country he now resides in. To the city he resides in nonetheless. So I thought it might be nice to meet up. It would be rude not to. Right?

Well, as it turns out, my idea of rude is not the same as that of an Italian.

Our virtual conversation went as follows.

Me - 'Hey I'll be arriving on the 17th and leaving on the 21st? Any time around then good for you?'

He - 'Yes. That is good.'

Me- 'Great. I'll be in touch closer to the time.'

He - 'Am I still entitled to fill you up?! hehe!'

This is the point where the pianist in the bar stops playing. Birds fall out of the sky. The traffic outside shrieks to a halt. Drivers poke their heads out of their windows and shout up to me. 'He said what?!'

Yep. 

I believe you can guess what my response was. Let's face it. If there was even a tiny chance of that happening (which there most definitely was not), he had certainly squashed that in one poorly judged move.

My sister pointed out that what with English not being his forte and also he was now learning his third language, maybe he had made a mistake. Perhaps he meant to say 'Feel you up'.

Of course, it's possible. But that isn't exactly what a girl wants to hear either.

Needless to say, I didn't meet up with him, so he didn't get a chance to clarify what he meant. 

Che Peccato

Beauty and the Decidedly Average

Hello you gorgeous bunch.

Yes, yes I know. It's been a while hasn't it? I do like to keep you all chomping at the bit. 

Wondering 'When oh when will I get to read such an insightful piece of literature? I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself, I think I will just lie down here and chew on this piece of carpet until the all knowing one comes forth and imparts her knowledge' 

Worry no longer.  I'm here to impart.

So, something that I have been thinking about a lot recently is beautiful women. Not in the sense that I have been single for so long it may be my only option, more in the sense that I can't seem to escape them.

It is difficult to go anywhere at the moment without being poked in the eye by images of stunningly beautiful women. Ridiculously unbelievable beautiful women. On billboards, on buses, on TVs, at the cinema. 

This in itself doesn't particularly bother me. We are all more than aware that executives have a firm belief that we as human beings are incapable of buying something/watching something/existing unless we see a stunning woman every twenty five seconds. I personally won't touch any product unless I know that at one time it was touched by a size four, blonde haired, blue eyed Goddess. It's just the way I was brought up.

No that's fine, what does bother me is the massive inequality that we are subjected to. 

The men in adverts, TV programmes and films are decidedly, on the whole, pretty average. 

They are allowed to be homely, dare I say on quite a few occasions overweight? They are allowed to not have chiseled jaws and emerald eyes. 

Don't get me wrong, yes you see that of course, but the ratio is very unbalanced. 

Think about the films and TV programmes and adverts that you are enjoying at the moment. How many times do you see an average looking, homely guy, with lots of personality going out with a disgustingly beautiful woman. Woman aren't allowed to be 'homely' or dare I say it overweight, unless it is part of the plot.  Unless she is the best friend, or if she will at some stage be transformed into an absolute stunner so these average guys can FINALLY be attracted to her.

The people who can be blamed for this inequality, as they can be blamed for most things in life that are evil, are the producers and executives. I can think of two reasons why they are casting such mismatched couples.

1. They are male and not overly attractive themselves, so they have created their own universe where beautiful women fall over themselves to be with a quirky man. Hopefully this will then make it so.

2. They honestly believe that men will turn over and watch something else if they don't have a woman with model good looks to encourage them to try to lick the TV screen

The only thing this practice manages to achieve is making women feel exceptionally inadequate and men believe that they are entitled to expect no less than supermodel looks from their girl regardless of their own physical prowess. 

It means that women, who have less than supermodel looks are being looked over because guys think they can do better. Telly tells them so. And telly is always right.

I hope of course that I'm wrong and men are cleverer than this. But subliminal messages are often stronger than we think.

It would certainly explain why I am sat here drinking brand named cola I don't remember buying and contemplating suing someone for an accident I haven't had.

Searching for my lost youth. If you see him, do send him home.

Hello you lovely lot.

It's been a while hasn't it? I'm sure this might give a few of you the impression that I have some sort of life. The rest of you are sensible enough to know that I'm just plain lazy.

I have had a few ideas about what the topic of discussion will be today,  and I have settled on - 

Age.

The age we are is such a big factor in so many things. And let's face it in today's society youth is king. We are already being reminded that if we are indeed older than 21 then we might as well shoot ourselves in the face as there is very little left to live for. 

We can buy creams to help us salvage what is left of our saggy, horrendous, 28 year old faces. Or if you are older than 28 then you should probably just have your saggy horrendous face pulled up by the eyebrows in some surgical type of hideous procedure.

Women of course get the brunt of this ageism, being constantly reminded that if we aren't young and attractive then chances are we'll die alone. Wrinkly.

What I find interesting is age gaps in relationships and this new found ideal that they shouldn't be too large. In Victorian times a man could marry a woman thirty years his junior and no one would bat their proverbial eyelids. These days even a simple five years can cause an eyebrow to raise to an alarmingly high state on one's forehead. (Thus saving on the aforementioned surgery).

It is so dependent upon the individual, I have had relationships with much, much older men, who I swear could have been ten years younger than me, in body and mind, and much younger men who were already in the pipe and slippers stages of their lives. 

Apparently there is a rule about age gaps in relationships. 
Yes, a made up rule that has been invented by the Rulemakers at the Rulemaking Institute of Rulesville, Ohio, that states that the ideal age gap in a relationship is when the man is with a woman who is half of his age, plus seven. So, for example if the man were 30, the woman should be 22. 

Why? Why is this the case?  And should this man therefore discount any other age? 

'My God, you're attractive, I don't think I've ever met someone who makes my stomach go fluttery in the way that you do, your eyes are like two misty oceans on a... Oh you're 25? Good day to you Madam, thank you for your time.'

Why is it also considered ideal for the man to be older than the woman? Oh you can give me the 'girls mature faster than boys' argument until the cows have got back from their day at the office, but we all know that 

a) men don't mature at all past 15, 

and 

b) men will always find any excuse to be with a pert young pretty thing half his age. 

Women also like the idea of a pert young pretty thing half our age. Oh yes we do. It's just that we also like the idea of having an actual conversation with our playthings, that isn't about One Direction or Skins or whatever it is the youth of today is getting up to.

And yet, an older women with a younger man is classed as a 'Cougar'. Quite an unflattering term, I think, compared to it's 'Silver Fox' equivalent. 

Men are allowed to get old. And they are allowed to then choose much younger women. Women are not allowed to get old, without surgery, and they are mocked if they choose to go after younger men. 

Well I say, it's time to change this. I think it's time for men to act their age and women to be allowed to be comfortable in theirs.

That's what I say. 

But of course, I would say that. Seeing as, at the age of 28, I should probably be looking into residential care homes.

Well, I'm not laughing

Today I would like to rabbit on about an article what I read...
And no, this isn't just an opportunity to prove that I actually spend some of my time reading newspapers. I promise. Although I have to admit, I now feel preeeeetty smug.

The article in question was discussing a research project from the University of Massachusetts and McMaster University, Ontario, which showed that men are intimidated by funny women.


Excuse me, while I put my handbag down a second in order to pick my jaw up off the floor.


This is terrifying. For some of us ladies, funny is all we've got. Really.


I've spoken about this before, briefly, when a guy I met said that he and his girlfriend never laugh together but it's ok because he could get laughter from his friends. I thought this was crazy. But I didn't realise the problem was widespread. If I had known I would have done something about it. Handed out flyers entitled 'Women. Stay bland or die alone'


If you put into google 'men are intimidated by' the list of suggestions is pretty interesting. It would appear that men are intimated by strong women, intelligent women, successful women, smart women, tall women!!


Now,  I don't know about you but I don't know many 5ft 4, stupid women who aren't very good at their jobs and still, it would appear, dwell in the 1940's. So it's slim pickings I'm afraid gentlemen.


Also this paints a very bleak picture of men, don't you think?


We're all pretty aware that men find it difficult to make decisions that arent entirely lead by their penis. It's an age old fact. I imagine that even picking food from a menu is lead using this human divining rod. 
'What is the food group most likely to get me laid? Steak? I will have eight steaks please.'


Yet, this google list would paint all men as a bunch of terrified little beings that run and hide in a corner the second a woman with a personality makes herself known.


'Mum! I can't have a bath, there's a woman who's made a great career choice, making wise cracks on the bathroom ceiling... Can you kill it? Don't throw it out the window! It'll come back in!!'


Can I honestly believe that a man is turned off by a woman who is able to banter? Are men turned off by anything really? Surely, if he's got some boobs to play with he couldn't care less if the woman has a head?


I have been long resigned to the fact that men prefer the younger, more attractive model of woman. Fine. That's life. I'll never be that woman and I'm okay with that. 

But men are more attracted to the meek, bland, stupid woman who doesn't understand humour but will laugh at all of his jokes, because he's her man? 

I will never be that woman and I'm okay with that.

My Lack of Security

Good morning Chicklets. I hope we are all well, surviving the January Blues.


I have been taking some time out to think about Singledom. This City I dwell in.


I was at a hen party recently. Quite a grown-up affair. A far cry from the learner plates, angel wings and sick-on-shoe type evenings that I am used to. By that, I mean hen-party evenings. Not that that is how I spend my spare time....


We managed to indulge in some frippery though. We managed to persuade a very very beautiful man to get his bum out for the event. I use the word persuade very loosely of course, I mean we paid him to do it, it was his job. Nevertheless.... Yum. I was fully in favour of this lovely evening with an hour or two of looking at a bottom so incredibly perfect I wanted to make a waxwork model of it and keep it in my kitchen.
The issue, was the other ladies in attendance. Meeting the all for the first time, I found them all lovely in their own way, sweet not pretentious, very easy to get on with. I was the only single girl there. One had just moved in with long term partner, one was pregnant, one was married, one was about to get married. Now, I have no issue at all with any of these things (maybe the lady doth protest too much), but I found it extremely difficult to cope with the fact that it was all any of them could talk about. Their men. Their relationships. It's like each of them had no personality of their own. They'd all been to drama school for God's sake! Was one of them acting now? Nope. Could I tell you what any of them were doing? Nope. But I could tell you their partners pet names, how difficult it is to get bedroom decor that both male and female like, and how men eat so much better when they are in a relationship. JE-SUS! I started to feel like a leper towards the end of the night. My god. If I'm not in a relationship then I am not a complete human being! How the hell have I managed to function for such an inordinate amount of time?! I had better do something about it, and quickly, before my clothes turn to rags and I forget how to feed myself! 

It was only upon returning home and seeing single friends, and indeed remembering that I have a lot of friends who are in relationships (a lot of whom are reading this) (possibly) (if anyone is still reading this) who are perfectly capable of having a life outside of the relationship. A healthy happy couple who don't swallow each other up into this abyss. It was then I breathed a sigh of relief and felt able to do up my own shoes in the morning.

Last week, I was on my way home and I see a man on the train. Not just any man. This was Mr Perfect.  This was I-am-having-difficulty-breathing-just-being-in-the-same-carriage-as-this-person. I began to think about how devoted I am to my single lifestyle and my plans to stay so for a good while. What if this guy walked over to me and said. 'Hi there. I would quite like to wrap you in my arms and make you feel like a woman'? (That's right this guy was from a Mills and Boon novel, what of it?) I thought, could I really say, 'oh I'm terribly sorry, I'm just not really dating at the moment, but thank you for taking off your shirt'? After thinking it through for quite some time, I decided that I had no idea. I didn't know what I would do. You just don't do you? Till it happens. Which of course for me, as you can imagine, is about twice a day. In which case I imagine you'll all be surprised and maybe relieved to hear that this guy didn't pay me any attention and got off the train. 


Probably to meet his boyfriend.

I did however face a situation fairly similar only the other week.
So I'm doing some work at a shopping mall and this very handsome security guard walks over to me. Tall, muscular but not too muscular, ginger hair and lovely green eyes. We talk for ages, he makes me laugh, I make him laugh, he asks me when I finish work? Four. Him seven. He asks for my number. I hesitate. My stomach churns. He's lovely. I tell him, I'm sorry, but I'm not on 'The Market'. He shrugs and says 'ah well. Worth a try' then wanders off to rough up twelve year old shoplifters. I can't believe it. How often does this happen? Let me rephrase that... How often does this happen to me? (Yes, as we've established - twice a day). I can't stop thinking about it. Am I an idiot? Then, later, in a different part of the mall I see him being quite intimate with his very lovely, very PREGNANT girlfriend!
If that isn't a sign that I am doing myself a favour then I have no idea what is!