Anyhow, if you're looking for some entertaining reading whilst my body sinks into an unyielding but oh-so-healthy futon, click your mouse here.
The synopsis is pretty evident from the title - the author has found pretty men to be duds in the sack. The theory is that those (of either gender) who don't have model looks have to try harder to attract and retain a partner. From information gleaned personally and the occasional lewd-yet-informative session with my female friends, I'd have to agree.
Then again, looks have never been a big deal for me in men. I generally prefer someone who can construct a sentence that amuses me than someone who looks good in clothing. There is rarely anything worse than an absolutely beautifully made man - an Adonis or David, a marble sculpture made in flesh - who opens his mouth to reveal an untrained, uneducated, unpalatable mind. I'm under no illusion that the underwear model on a billboard is someone I'd enjoy meeting in the flesh - they stick their bits in knickers for a living, am I really supposed to expect a sublime mind choosing such a profession?
This is where my girlfriends and I fervently disagree. They like men to be cute, I like men to be ... well ... men, actually. We're equally horrified by our different tastes. Often, a friend will point in a crowd and murmur some approval of a male. I will scan...I will not find a single attractive man...I will ask and be given a more specific description. Then my eyes will alight on a boy that I had completely discounted because he didn't look old enough to be physically capable of breeding. He might also have one of those simply hideous gelled-up-like-a-porcupine hairdos that seem to be all the rage in London at the moment.
Then, when I look twice at a man and point him out to them I get quizzical looks and comments about me liking 'old men in suits'. Apparently, 30 & 40-ish is 'old' - a fact that I am storing up to unleash on my girlfriends when they nudge the big three-oh themselves. They also don't appreciate that a suit is the male version of lingerie. Few men can escape looking good in a tailored suit and London is the home of bespoke tailoring.
I suppose the difference shows the disparity in what we currently like in a man. They want a hard body and choose men with pectorals that could crack walnuts, I want a hard debate and choose a little grey at the temples to signify some la connaissance. It shows how very even-handed nature can be in ensuring that everyone gets a mate. It also shows what a rarity M is in that he's only one year older than me and is one of the few people I know who can stand up to me when I'm in full temper mode, know he's right, weather out the storm, convince me with infallible argument and gracefully accept my apologies without gloating.
Well, will you look at that? I managed a post after all. Not the kind I really like to see on here, but I have a review of the Vettriano exhibition that will sate the palate of those more used to my essays than my random ramblings.
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