Real women clean their own fish. You know, the ones they catch themselves. Real women can pluck a chicken. And, they don't complain if they break a fingernail in the process. They can make soup, or soap, depending on how much chicken fat is left when they get done plucking the chicken, and they can shoot a chicken hawk out of the hen-house with a .22 rifle. Ah, let's see, how many other, selfish, self-serving traits can I use to create a barrier between myself and reality?
Let's see, perfect women don't cheat, lie, steal or flatulate – blow a raspberry – in bed. They don't ask to go out to dinner just because they have a need to be seen with new clothes or jewelry. In fact, they don't even want new clothes or jewelry. They would rather lounge around the bedroom, scantily dressed, with personal lubricant at hand, waiting to be tied to the bed.
Real women should be able to code HTML and update their own web site, and mine, too, while she's at it. Real women can change oil and tires on the car if needed, and be able to load the boat on the trailer single-handedly. Never should I have to interrupt watching a football game to tell her where the toilet plunger is.
Real women should be caring, sweet, rational, even-tempered, calm, and never say a foul or nasty word to anyone, especially not me. They understand the fundamentals of credit financing. Of course real women will always smell like summer fields of lavender, even after they finish mowing the lawn. No, make that charcoal smoke, you, know like what comes off the barbeque grill when you're cooking a really juicy T-bone steak. Cooking will of course be an art form real women follow in their spare time so I can entertain any of my friends, well, most of my friends, well, even just one of my friends! They aren't allowed in now, so let's see how can I change this ethereal dream-list into something that actually resembles reality.
It seems every time I log onto the Internet, I'm bombarded with lists of attributes American males must have to be considered as even semi-qualified to even associate with any American woman. I can only sit and wonder about the incredibly lucky, tanned, muscular, hairless-bodied, independently wealthy, doctorate-level college-educated men, all with marvelous heads of hair and smiles that looks like inlaid pearl, who will never be inattentive, interrupt, be late, get lost, and will never, never, talk out of turn. They will never lie, ever! They will never be aggravated, hungry or horny, always be cuddly romantic, ready to watch whatever video or movie his soul mate happens to pick, regardless of any NFL championship playoffs. He absolutely loves kittens and will never have an independent, uninvited thought. Tofu? Loves it! He will also have the uncanny ability to remember every conversation ever held in his presence verbatim, and even those he wasn't present to hear in the first place.
I realize that lacking any single one of these traits immediately casts me into the vast, bottomless cesspool of common, useless men, the ones that no American woman in her right man would associate with. Unless, of course, he rides a motorcycle and has a ponytail. In that case, American women don't need no stinkin' list.
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