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 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

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!