Women who are still, alas, alone.
But thank goodness Cosmo has reminded us we are all highly sophisticated wives-in-training who must go into the jungle of maleness and choose some swine to domesticate. No longer are we expected to bring kinship, empathy or even great passion into our romantic lives. Now, the love bond exists to shore up our egos, rather than the bad old days when we were expected to shed our egos and try to merge souls. All we need to have satisfying partnerships is to make sure the men in our lives fold laundry and tuck in their shirts.
Maybe I’m weird. Sure, I like a guy who takes the time to wipe the Cheez Whiz from his necktie. Men who don’t pull their own weight around the house annoy me, and anyone who backs down from a fight is certainly a child. But I prefer love with all its chaos, I want men who are complex, I like relationships with sharp edges.
A man who makes a bad joke in public, I don’t consider a terrible partner. A guy wearing an ugly shirt, I won’t send home. If he’s trying his damndest to understand who I am and make the thing work, he can wear a pineapple on his head for all I care. He can take a piss on the floor as long as he’s loving and has something to say. I don’t want to train anyone and hardly want to bend anyone to my will. I have no preconceived notions of what I want. I only hope he’s authentic and surprises me.
Let him be messy. As if I don’t have anything myself to fix.