A rose by any other name

A few hours ago my friend Mega rang me. My friend Mega of the eunuch status, i.e., he is male but not really because I have known him for so long he’s become an honorary girl. Knobless, as it were. He is in a complicated relationship, prospects are bleak, denial is acknowledged but flies high still. The conversation left me feeling I’d been run over by a lorry. It wasn’t an easy one because I, it seems, am to blame for male predicaments across the globe and why do I have to be so difficult, I am too picky, how can I be so picky, honestsly, isn’t it high time I settled down [mind, I don't even get this from mother], why weren’t X and Y good enough, they never stood a chance did they, how big is that requirement list of mine, no really, I’m impossible, I am, I know that don't I, what do I want, we’re all the same you know, we’re never happy with what we have, seriously, we should tell him what we want, he's known me for ages and still doesn’t understand what I’m looking for, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO I WANT FROM A MAN?

Well Mega, it might have helped if you'd let me talk. And even though I understand the need for some carefully chosen displacement activity and the creation of white noise, bugger you and the mare you rode in on, now I will finally say my piece and feel much better for it, you monologous git.

These are my impossible requirements from a man:

• Intelligent and with a sense of humour. This is an absolute must as dull, dense people put me to sleep. No, actually they make me want to put them to sleep. A man who is threatened by my intelligence isn’t worthy of my time. A man who can make me grin and laugh till I cry is a thing of wonder and it's never boring.
• Manners. Can’t stress this enough, ill-mannered men are the pits. Nothing spells hormonometre like chivalry. If you think manners are outdated, well, you don’t know what you’re missing. You’ve been spending time with females of the threatening variety with unshaved legs and armpits, perhaps? So yes, open doors, hold chairs, take the outside of the pavement, offer her your coat. Politeness makes the world go round in a most soul-warming manner, and it certainly is hot.
• Eyes. Men don’t need to be pretty. In fact, I don’t like pretty-pretty men, I tend to find them blah. I’m very particular, I like men who are indeed that [homem que é homem], no sissies, men who are intense, men with [sorry for the Barbara Cartland:] smouldering eyes, eyes which take you places when they're aimed at you or make you wish you were there already. Men who do not look harmless. Case in point, the singer of Maroon 5: not pretty, but on the This Love [brill song, brill lyrics] videoclip he looks edible because of the way he looks at the camera. Eyes are sexy, loads.
• Mouth. Hugely important. I don’t much care for a man’s butt, never really notice it right away, but the mouth? I like luscious mouths and unlike what the word might imply it doesn't mean it has to be full - to me, obviously, the English language might disagree. I’ve met many men with luscious mouths who had thin but sexy lips bcs they looked carved. That’s the word, lips that are well-defined. Yes. Luscious is a carved state of mind.
• Readers. Men who do NOT read are an absolute turn off and may God keep them at bay. Oy, and men who say No, never read that, too thick leave me in no doubt they are describing themselves and not the book. There is nothing like a man saying Did you read X? You must, it’s brilliant. It’s foreplay really.
• Smell. One of the most important things. Not much to be done here, it boils down to physiology and chemistry but it absolutely needs to be there. Pheromones pave the way and I for one I could spend the whole day with my face buried in the right man's neck. In fact, I react so strongly to smells that I would probably be too weak to get up anyway. Smell, YES, and thank God for the 5th sense.
• Cheeky man, daring men, men who surprise me. Men who let me know in no uncertain terms they like me. Men you fancy who look at you like they want to eat you up? Very effective. The surprise bit is very important, if I feel I’m in control at all times I may still be in the relationship but it will certainly not be for very long, who wants to be Master to a Servant all the time, no relief?
• Men who love English as much as I do. Men who have fun with languages and understand my linguistic jokes, who laugh at BlackAdder and Monty Python every single time. I have many foreign friends and I am so enamoured of English that it is inconceivable to be with someone who doesn’t master it because frankly, English is fabulous and if he doesn’t know that he simply doesn't know enough.
• Renaissance men. Men for whom Human Rights matter, men who vote, men who give a damn, men who are so sure of themselves in the proper way that they can be generous, kind, empathetic, men who are willing, men who volunteer, men who know what’s going on in their country and the world.
• Men who I feel can protect me. No bras to burn here, bras are pretty. I am very independent [an effective male filtering device as I’ve discovered, took me years to realise I scare men off in droves], I am more than used to standing on my own two feet and I don’t need a man so I can know who I am. I need a man so I can be happier knowing it. I like to know - no, I need to know he’ll be there at all times. I need to know that he’ll offer me comfort if I’m sad, that I can curl up on his lap and he’ll make it all better. That he’ll love doing it. That he’ll let me cry as much as I want or rant as much as I need without ever feeling threatened by me. That he’ll put up with my pouting and sulking [yes, unfortunately I’m the original princess in The Princess And The Pea and therefore easily slighted] and will, in fact, make fun of me [as he should, it's embarrassing] thereby disarming the Ice Queen and infuriating me. That he’ll not take any rubbish from me ever (and sadly I can behave in ways you wouldn't believe), I need to be able to always respect him. That he’ll be there at all times, just as I will, because I matter at all times, just as he does.
  

I don’t want a glamorous life, a thrilling one. For me beauty is found in solid, small things, everyday things. In white spaces with clean designs and sober lines. I dislike clutter, I dislike frills, I dislike ostentation. I want to one day live near, but outside, the city. Where the birds can be heard and you can grow rosemary and basil on the windowsill, where the air is so crisp it stings your nostrils and your animals can run free and chase butterflies in the walled garden (so you never worry about them). I want to have bushes of the miniature Rosa 'Cecile Brunner' (Sweetheart rose, Rosa de Santa Tere*sinha), a scent so intoxicating it fills you with primeval beauty.

I want pillow fights, lazy breakfasts on the weekends with the sun pouring in from big windows and his eyes lighting up when I walk in the room just as my heart goes bababoom. I love the idea of spooning till you fall asleep, of going to sleep with the same man every night, of knowing every angle and plane of his face, every bone and nook in his body, of growing old together (even if it scares me a bit). I want to always feel grateful that I have him, and always know he feels the same.

I believe it is possible to have exactly THAT, and I will not settle for less - and THAT is why I haven’t settled down yet and started breeding like a prized cow. I want a Knight, yes, and why shouldn’t I have him.

He is sanctuary - or nothing at all.