THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES

Each man is different. All of them will have something peculiar to them alone. And everyone has different moods, tastes, interests, and peccadilloes.
I realized this while in the elevator today next to a gigantic woman who could probably toss me against the ceiling while kicking down a steel door.
She wore a wedding band.

Her husband is probably one of these three types:

1. Unnaturally short and weasely.
2. A big glandular freak.
3. Normal.

I've always preferred women who are shorter than me. The angle is just right, you see. You cannot admire a nice forehead and an intelligent face when you're looking up at her chin (or if her bosom is at eye level).
Part of it is the lazy man's approach to female appreciation, part of it is sheer practicality and aesthetics.
Intelligent women are so much more wonderful when they aren't threatening.


THE PERFECT LADY

The ideal woman has a sense of humour, curiosity, and perspective. These three are key tools for getting through life and dealing with society, especially men.

Imagine, for instance, that a momentary lapse of all three of those faculties hitched her to an individual who lazes around the house on weekends in his raggies, watching sports and drinking beer.
Naturally, the logical thing to do is file for divorce.
The marriage was clearly a stroke of insanity; now it's time to move on.

However he might actually be a decent bloke with a keen interest in literature and philosophy, and not realize that his chosen method of relaxation is rather numbnuts. A good man, albeit 'misguided'.
Redeemable.

The woman with a sense of humour, curiosity, and perspective will instinctively grasp that blasting him with a firehose is the best thing to do. Not only will it wake him up to alternative relaxational methodologies (and get him to change his clothes), it will counteract the deletorious effect of that six-pack, and distract him from the big heaving gorillas on screen, however briefly. Done often enough, it becomes Pavlovian in its power.
What will he do? Will he change his habits? Let us find out!
Full of scientific curiosity, she turns the water on full blast.
A noble experiment.

Worst case scenario: he takes off his wet clothes and mows the lawn.
Your neighbors needed a goodly dose of realism anyway.
He actually looks kinda splendid in the sun.
All throbbing muscles and sinew.
Except for the beergut.
Wobbly-gobbly.

In the interest of full disclosure, I must inform you that the scenario above is purely hypothetical, and not something of which I have any experience. It is wholly imaginary.
I am not married, I never watch sports, don't ponce around in raggies (nude, yes, raggies, no), seldom drink beer, and I frequently change my clothes, even on the weekend.
Neither a lawn nor a firehose are among my possessions.
I am unthrobbing, and ungutted.

Other than the three characteristics mentioned above, the ideal woman is kindhearted, and courteous toward strangers.  Gallant, and sincerely considerate of other people.
A woman of valour, whose worth is beyond rubies.

Exceptionally rare, too.

Unfortunately.


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