Perfection
I am the Perfect Woman.
I’m fairly attractive, with a pleasing rack. You can tell your friends you’re sleeping with me and expect a thumbs up, rather than a disappointed shake of the head. However, I’m not so drop dead gorgeous that you’ll worry about me leaving you for a Gold Coast day trader, nor will I inspire bar fights. You will never get the shit kicked out of you at 2 in the morning because you feel obliged to defend my honor (and your masculinity) from the 200lb linebacker who grabbed my ass. No, because I am the perfect woman.
I don’t enjoy playing video games, but I love watching them. I’m really good at finding secret levels, too. Rest assured I can sit happily for hours watching you play Grand Theft Auto, and after you’re all x-boxed out, I will most likely give you a blow job while you watch a televised sporting event of your choice. In the absence of a good sporting event, we can watch the Three Stooges and I will actually understand why they’re funny. I’m that perfect.
I hate talking on the phone. I love beer. I can quote The Simpsons for hours. I own 3 pairs of shoes. I refuse to patronize any club with a velvet rope and $40 cover charge, but love drinking in dirty dive bars, where you will be allowed to ignore me completely while watching the last quarter of a football game. I buy all my own drinks.
I am educated enough to carry on conversations about politics, drama, philosophy and science, but I also know about 200 dick jokes. I don’t wear underwear, but I will wear lingerie upon request. That one thing that you thought was just an urban legend, even though your college roommate’s brother swore he knew a girl who tried it…I can do it.
I hate talking about my feelings.
I have an insatiable sexual appetite, but a horrible fear of commitment. If you want to keep seeing other women, I will most likely be relieved, and even encouraging. I will never call you out for looking at an attractive woman when we’re together. In fact, I will frequently point them out to you. You won’t have to hang out with my bitchy girlfriends because I don’t have any. I can hold my own when we’re with your friends, but I won’t make them feel stupid. I am funny, but not funnier than you.
I orgasm easily.
I enjoy fishing and camping. I enjoy fine dining. I enjoy art films, I enjoy movies where lots of shit gets blown up. I watch porn. I know that men masturbate, I know that men cheat. I won’t freak out when you do either because I know it’s not really reflecting your feelings for me…It’s just your biological makeup. I won’t yell at you when you don’t call for 3 days. I’ll never give you the silent treatment, cold shoulder or withhold sex. I won’t say “I’m fine” in that horrible, chilling “nothing is fine, nor will it ever be” tone of voice. I won’t ask what you’re doing with your life or where you see yourself (or us) in 10 years.
I will never ask you “what are you thinking?”
I am the perfect woman. But I’m pretty sure it’s becaust I think like a guy.