Pass me my pinny!

I have a date tomorrow. And I’m kind of excited about it! I’m trying my best to keep a lid on the day-dreaming - and restrict it to work hours only - but as my current temporary bedroom has no blinds I wake up at 5am and it’s that or endlessly rearranging furniture in my head for the flat I’m, hopefully, buying. Both pointless yet horribly compelling exercises guaranteed to drive all hope of sleep away.

So, yeah, why am I so excited? Well, quite apart from the fact he has the the sexiest eyes I've ever seen - think Russell Brand but with no hair (I'm going through a bald man phase. Don't ask), he’s also passed all the little tests I like to set. Chief of which is decisiveness and ability to tell me in as few texts as possible where and when we’re meeting. I love this. I may pretend to be a tough, independent, home-owning, career woman but really I just want a man to take charge, and perhaps also fling me over his shoulder and drag me home for some good old fashioned ravishing. Oops, day-dreaming again . . .

Other excellent things he's done include a complete lack of smileys, LOLs (and their ilk) or even kisses. All of which gladdens my retrosexual heart. Yes, I am a frilly pinny away from the 1950s and frankly I don’t care. In fact, I read an article in The Stylist the other day that really got on my wick. They were chastising modern women for demanding equality in the workplace but sticking to traditional roles at home. The article even claimed that there are hordes of women out there sitting in darkness rather than changing a lightbulb themselves. Ridiculous. They also cited women who, when single, had been capable of simultaneously wielding a drill, cooking dinner and changing a lightbulb but who, once partnered up, became too princessy to even take out the bins. But isn’t that the joy of a relationship? It’s a division of labour, a sharing of skills, and although I know I can knock up a log store or re-wire a light if I have to it didn’t do much for my ex’s ego (and therefore our relationship) whenever I demonstrated that ability. And you can be damn sure he never once cleaned the toilet* so why shouldn’t I get my bills sorted out for me and my tyre pressure checked?

So for me it’s time for men to man up. You Tarzan, me Jane. Now how about that rumble in the jungle sexy eyes?


*I once overheard him boasting about this fact to a girl at a party. Not. Happy.