So. Bells and I had dinner last night (Note to self: never again attempt to share 2 pizzas topped with seafood, garlic aioli, roasted pumpkin, broccoli, and kangaroo, and then attempt to run around a netball court for half an hour). Over too much pizza, and some very nice wine, conversation turned, in the time-honoured tradition of single twentysomething women who have been around the block a time or two, to boys. It went something like this:
Bells: I got dumped by a 22 year old. Who is short. And who I didn't
even like very much.
MeganJane: I haven't had a meaningful relationship in, well, ever.
Bells: Why are good guys so hard to find? Why do I know so many
fabulous single women?
MeganJane: It's because all the good ones are taken. By pretty
girls. And the problem is those girls are nice too, so it's not like you
can hate them, and not feel bad about wanting to steal their guys ( And between
the two of us, we've done that: Cue evil giggling). I mean, I know what
I want ( well, I know emphatically, what I don't want anyway), it can't be that
hard to find him, surely.
See, the two of us will bang on about how we are happy to be single. Well, actually, I'll bang on about that a lot more than Bells will. We'll talk about how we like our independence, and we have to take responsibility for our emotions, blah blah blah. But the reality is that you want somebody to worry that you aren't home when you said you would be, and you want somebody there when you wake up in the morning. So, we came up with a list of what we want. If you know him, can you send him our way?
* Not offensive to look at, but not too hot (there is an inherent insecurity involved in going out with a really hot boy)
* The ability to hold an intelligent conversation and, for me, a recognition of the value of a good argument.
* Importantly, the ability to hold a conversation about more than sport. And to not say: "Hmm, you know a lot about rugby. For a girl." The last person who said that to me got a pretty swift kick to his shin. I think he learned that I can kick pretty hard too. For a girl.
* To appreciate wine with dinner, and beer with sport. And to be able to make the distinction all by himself.
* To have at least some kind of tertiary education. And not some poxy 6 month course from nelson polytech on recreation. Yes, I'm a snob, but this condition relates to the being able to hold an intelligent conversation thing. And also to the next one:
* To have some kind of focus/ambition/drive/um...job. There is nothing wrong with being unemployed. We've been there, and I'll probably be there again, thanks to the decision to change careers entirely, but if it's a permanent condition, or if you really don't know what you want to be when you grow up (I mean, narrow it down to 'working with animals', or 'having an office' or 'not having to work on weekends' at least), we'll we're sorry, but that's a problem. It's just that we have ambition and drive and some days at least (usually not after alcohol fuelled evenings), focus, and we don't want to be apologetic about that.
* The ability to be supportive, but not wussy, sensitive, but still manly, funny, but not funnier than us, smart, but down to earth and above all, interesting.
* Older than us. [Insert ever-so-funny age joke here].
* Tall. We're talking at least 5ft10 ish. we will leave all the short boys for Caza. No offence guys, but that's not negotiable.
There. That shouldn't be too hard to find, surely? Interested? Apply Here.
And if none of my lovely readers know him, this is what we came up with:
MeganJane: So, we'll just die old and alone together.
Bells: Yes! Can we live in one of those places that take us out on outings to
places that no one would want to go to?
MeganJane: In a minivan! And it will be driven by a young man we'll call
sonny.
Bells: And we''ll have neighbouring flats, and all our married friends will
come to visit and say how we made the right choice, how much their spouses
annoy them.
MeganJane: And we'll just nod and smile, and be all beatific.
Bells: And our flats will be amazing, because if you don't have kids, you get
to keep all your money, and they'll all be jealous.
MeganJane: Yours will be. I'll be living off $17 000 for the rest of my
life. We'll be like Will and Jack, and you'll give me an allowance.
Bells: And we'll start drinking gin all the time.
MeganJane: And embarrass our grandkids.
Bells: We won't have grandkids.
MeganJane: Oh...Right. well, other peoples grandkids. Caza will
bring her grandchildren, and we'll say they are lovely, and then, when she
leaves, we'll be like "How annoying are those children?"
Bells: And we'll talk about how she settled, and how she could have
had a fabulous life like ours. Hung out and drunk gin, and been driven round
by spunky young men called sonny. Instead, she went away and got married,
and pretended she was happy.
MeganJane: And we won't do craft. Craft is the last vestige of
the pathetic.
So. Things to note out of that exchange. You'll note i completely ignored the fact I hate gin. And that I already do stuff that could loosely be described as craft. And that i'm already fairly pathetic. Caza, if you are worried about the fact we think your grandchildren are brats, well, be cheered by the fact we think you are likely to get married and have kids in the first place.
It's days like this I really hope no-one is reading this thing.
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