I’m sorry, I have to blow this cover. I can’t pretend anymore. I may be kicked out of my various “Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants” societies but I’m willing to take my chances.
What women want?
I just don’t know.
I have no clue.
Some days I want you to hold me close and whisper sweet nothings in my ear, other days I’d prefer to make a line down the middle of the bed with pillows to mark our separate territories.
Some days I’ll do cartwheels for McDonalds cardboard chips, and other days I want to cry when you surprise me with an XL Super Duper sized bag of gruesome cardboard chips from McDonalds. Because I wanted KFC chips today.
Some days I love Cadbury’s Bubbly, and other days I want to throw it across the room because it doesn’t have nice dividing lines to neatly break a piece off … like a normal slab of chocolate you know. And how DARE you try to substitute it with an Aero because I complained so much about Bubbly the last time. No I don’t prefer it. I love Bubbly chocolate. Sometimes.
Some days I love big butts and some days my big butt makes me weep. And you saying you like my big butt on any of these days is not cool. You can say butt. Not big butt. Just butt. One day I am OK with my weight, and the next I’m pulling the scale out of the back of the cupboard and Weigh-Lessing the heck out of everything I see.
Some days my children bring me such joy that I want to go to The Crazy Store and let them go wild choosing stuff that will break before we reach the car. And other days, I want to take them to The Crazy Store and … leave them there.
I like long hair, then I like short hair. Some days I look at my husband’s bald head with envy.
My favourite colour IS green. But sometimes it’s blue. And occasionally I like black the best. But always ask me before you buy anything. Because I may be having a white day.
Yes I laughed until I cried when you tickled me that time. It was fun. But today, if you DARE tickle me I will punch you in the face, I just don’t feel like it.
I want you to be more involved with the children, but I still need to approve the clothes you choose for them, the dinner you’ve prepared for them, the way you brush their hair and how long it takes you to brush their teeth. But please get more involved because really I can’t do EVERYTHING by myself. I mean really.
Some days I take two sugars in my coffee and other days (see Weigh-lessing point above) I don’t take sugar at all. I’m not sure how you are supposed to figure out what kind of a day I am having, some days I am not sure myself.
I love it when you boil my egg just perfectly. But some days my perfectly means hard boiled, and some days my perfectly means soft-boiled. Just rather ask me before you waste our time… and eggs.
Why are you looking at me so incredulously? I know the kids aren’t allowed sugar in the week, but some days I just need them to bounce off some walls and leave me alone.
I want to be like a teenager some days and stay out as late as I can, but why do you oblige my whims? You KNOW I always regret it the next day and you should stop me from being whimsical. Even if I call you a party pooper when you poo-poo my big ideas.
Don’t say I told you so ever. I can say that. You can’t. And don’t tell me what I can and cannot do. But for goodness sake, if you can see that I’m about to make a fool of myself, stop me. Who would actually let their wife sing at karaoke? Why did you let me do that? You are supposed to have my back. But still don’t tell me what to do.
Yes I know I said I only like gouda cheese. But don’t raise your eyebrows when you see me stealing a big hunk of your cheddar to slap onto a Salticrax biscuit. Sometimes I also like cheddar, OK.
I like noise, then I don’t. I like cola tonic, then I prefer rock shandy. I like my steak medium rare but some days I prefer biltong. Point is, you should let me choose the restaurant and don’t try to order for me. And yes, I have to stare at the menu really hard and for a very long time and change my mind at least 4 times before I make a decision.
I am easy going and fun to be around. Except when I’m not.
And I mostly don’t like watching reality TV. Except when I do. Sometimes Toddlers and Tiaras makes me so mad that I change the channel quickly and go on and on about how it’s child abuse, but sometimes I like to watch it because I simply cannot tear my eyes away. So don’t just be flipping pass the TLC channel.
So there it is. I don’t know what women want. Mainly because I don’t think women know what they want most of the time. Wait, don’t get me wrong. We KNOW what we want, it’s just that it changes all the time. So don’t assume you know what’s going on, because we will flip the script. Often. Just keep up, I guess. And make no assumptions, because today may just not be a McDonald’s cardboard chip kinda day.
It’s like Dr Jekyll and Ms Hyde – just a prettier version.