Good on paper

I had a dating world revelation today, this that thought hit me like a lightening bolt from the blue has the potential to alter the path of my dating future and thus change my life immeasurably. Ok, so I might be exaggerating slightly but it is still a pretty big breakthrough. It transpires that the sort of man who I might call “good on paper”, that is someone who ticks all the boxes on my arbitrary perfect match list might not be all he’s cracked up to be. After spending years searching for the holy grail of manhood I found a box ticking specimen and prepared to worship him (from afar naturally, someone that perfect would never be interested in me!) however the shine was soon taken off my ardour when I realised that to find someone who ticked every box I had quite literally found “the perfect man”. And the repercussions of finding “the perfect man” became glaringly obvious….

1) Mr Perfect is ball-achingly fit, funny, intelligent, well educated, cultured, kind to children, animals and old ladies. Mr Perfect is also, really freaking arrogant – probably as a side effect of being so wonderful.

2) Now that the target of my long held lust had finally been acquired I realised that in order to consider myself worthy to even breathe the same oxygen as him I needed to do some serious work on still startling lack of self-esteem.

Mr Perfect is in fact so arseing arrogant that he was overheard telling anyone who would listen that if he was dating a girl who didn’t come from good stock (what is she? Cattle?) that he wouldn’t bother spending money on trying to impress her as she’s NOT WORTH IT. What a douchebag! But he didn’t stop there, he carried on his little rant by saying that if for example a girl’s father was a dustbin man then she should be very grateful for going out with him and thus not care if he took her out for a pie and a pint rather than an intimate dinner a deux somewhere and that she should also be grateful if he chose to indulge in frottage in the car!! My wanker alarm was going off deafeningly loud at this point but I was dismayed to see that still, even with all this claptrap billowing forth from his gums he had legions of women fawning over him. Well, I am no longer one of them! I think I’ve been searching for Mr Perfect because I was convinced he wouldn’t exist thus saving me from potential humiliation when he rejected me in all my flabby glory, it was the safe option that left no room for heartbreak. It’s also a little unfair on those droves of potential LongTallAlly life partners to be there in all my flabby gigantic and totally unperfect glory demanding perfection from the opposite sex. I suppose I’m realising that perfection just doesn’t exist? Blimey. Wasn’t expecting that to happen, thought this was just going to be a rant about stupid men!


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