A man and his cheating mind

He cheated on you, you found out, caught him red handed! To prove to yourself just how depressed you are, you’ve been out binge drinking all night, snugged three random guys who weren’t your type, attempted to French kiss and then hump your girl friend with your dildo from behind (in fact you are so groggy right now, you don’t know angry she is and coming to think about it, where’s your damn mobile phone?). With a severely sore head, you ferociously throw the curtains shut to prevent the sunlight and you go back to sleep. At this point your tears are burning the pillow; the furnace is blazing hot, similar to the bleed in your heart. But why did he do it? Your version of events leaves him unforgivably dumped, and you come out smelling of roses, but let’s hear what he has to say!

She is the bunny boiler from hell! She is obsessed with everything I do, everywhere I go and everyone I see. She lives in my pocket and wants to know every last detail of my day including when I coughed, ate lunch and did a number 2 in the gentlemen’s! I love her to bits and want to spend the rest of my life with her but I met this girl who didn’t care what I was up to in intricate detail. All that mattered was the bigger picture. Suddenly I felt relaxed and I could breathe. It was so refreshing that one thing led to another. It was a mistake which I will never make again. I love my girl but will she trust me, let me be a man, let me live my life, let me miss her enough to enjoy running home to her?

She is the Virgin Mary personified! When I met her she wore black skin tight leather trousers with heels that ‘rhythmed’ with the floor to the beat of this R&B tune on my mind. Her walk was sexy! When she cooked me dinner for the first time my stomach became the passage to my heart and when we spent the night together, we never slept if you know what I mean. Following on from that my apartment no longer had my towels on the bathroom floor and on my centre piece, lives a cream vase carrying a dozen cream carnations that match my cream curtains. She is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, but for one problem. As soon as the relationship conquered the initial stage of impressing each other, she lost her ability to be sexy. She waltzes round the apartment lazily in my old rumpled t-shirt which she pulls out the washing machine. The carnations are still in place unfailingly every week, so are the elaborate meals (in fact my beer belly is no longer down to beer), but when we get to the bedroom it’s the same old routine with the light off! Sex does not rule our relationship, love does but when I went out and met this stranger in the coffee bar, yep, you guessed it - one thing led to another. Do I love this stranger? No! She reminded me of what I saw in my girl the first time I met her. Who do I want to be with? My girl of course! Despite the shortcomings I love who she is.

She is obsessed with equality! She reminds me every day that a woman can be a singer, engineer, doctor, lawyer, stripper, architect, and janitor, anything a man can be. Problem? She is so fanatical about this concept that she forgets to let me be the man in the relationship. I love her but need the respect of a woman who understands that a man is the captain of the ship. So I went out and this woman absolutely adored my views, worshipped the ground I walked on and told me what a big, strong man I was. She said she felt small and vulnerable in my arms. The rest of the night is history. What do I want? I still want my girl but I am worried that she will drive me crazy.

While some of these scenarios make men look like selfish bastards and might even be construed disrespectful to women, the truth is that what a man needs is a well-rounded woman. This woman can be anything at the drop of a hat. She is down to earth and a domestic goddess, she will walk around in your rumpled t-shirt and look scruffy but strangely appealing, yet when you take her out she scrubs up good and your friends gawk at her. Underneath her dinner dress is some sizzling hot lingerie and yet on the kitchen hob is your favourite meal waiting to be served on demand. She worships the ground you walk on and will indulge you in ‘69’ on request but she is no fool for you and will make you work for all she has to give because she knows her worth. She will obey your every word but not without gently massaging her opinion into your rules (she sneaks it up on you perfectly. Its done so flawlessly you can’t help but love her). She is beautiful, classy and what’s more she bears or cannot wait to bear your children. While it is impossible to attain such perfection, keeping our men ‘zipped up’ is not totally outside our abilities as women. In certain situations a man cheats because it seems to be part of his genetic make up and no attainment of the label – ‘well rounded woman’ will keep his roaming eyes fixated on you (and in those cases what you do with your relationship depends on how strongly you feel about the issue. Women’s views differ!).

So some of them have no excuse for this hurtful behaviour but in the event that they come up with some ‘justification’ for their short comings, striking a balance between being their life-size doll and being human is not easy, however, here’s the a.b.c guide to being his perfect woman in his opinion - do the domestics with a smiling face, cook his food with love (light a candle at the dinner table occasionally), wear lingerie, or wear nothing at all, give him a blow job, let him have his wicked way with you, play the innocent ‘I-only-know-the-missionary-position’ type and be good at it (some men like their women free of ‘filth’!), be familiar with the names of the players of his favourite football team, score points by commenting on the politics show, watch the gadget show or top gear with him, if he says he’ll be back at midnight and its now 10 past, resist the urge to leave him 20 messages on his voice mail (and upon his return, let your ‘where have you been?’ sound more blasé than ‘I have been hyperventilating with fury!’), get down on your knees and scrub the kitchen floor and spend a dedicated amount of time massaging his ego! Does anyone know any such woman? It sounds like perfection to me and we all know perfection is pretty unfeasible a concept. Is there hope that men will ever stop cheating? Who knows? For now just follow the a.b.c guide to the best of your ability. Leave the rest to destiny, after all you went into the relationship with your eyes open – you can only do your best and in love there are no guarantees!

Good luck
;-) Sally

© 2007

listen...

has anyone listened to the lyrics of beyonce's 'listen'?

tell me your secret....

ok this is one thing about me. when i am upset, i tend to go a bit psycho on house work. in that mode, i can clean the house from top to bottom and if employed as a cleaner during rage mode, employer will be very impressed. this is of course when i have finished an aggressive, bordering on violent-like work out.

what do you do when you are angry? i am interested.

and the caged bird sings....

So when the moment came, the world stood still, and naught could be seen or heard through her mind but the sound of silence and random pop-up thoughts, curiously so was the one other sound that drowned not with the rest of the world. It was the singing bird in the cage. Symphony respected not private thoughts and often intruded with song. So while the caged bird sang only in her subconscious, today the melody pierced through, particularly loud, and even became her contemplation.

She walked up to the cage and peered in her eyes. ‘Symphony, what do you sing about?’ and she was further lost in a world where Symphony answered. Symphony was happy to be there, nourished and embellished with all that she needed….or so it seemed.

‘How is it then that I have wings and pretty colours, the heart to entertain all day long and nothing to complain about, and yet beyond this cage is a life I shall never know. For though I understand the concept of the world being a cruel cruel place and this a haven, perhaps somewhere in the distance beyond the rainbow is something that ought to be mine. Perhaps I ought to sing of something un-similar to this, but all I know is within this cage… but something in the beyond beckons upon my heart to reach out and sing a song which will be revealed to me, but only upon my release, a song which it appears I may never know. I am a caged bird with the basic necessities but am I ungrateful to desire the sustenance that only an un-caged world can provide? There is more to life than who I reveal to the world and I sing as normal, but within my melody is sadness but joy, satisfaction but hunger, water but still….thirst.

So she reached forth and opened the cage. Symphony flew through with aggressive desperation and her melody sounded more liberated. Excited at the prospect of doing her some justice she opened the window. ‘Go Symphony, go!’ and she did.

So she sat in her chair and re-drowned in her thoughts wondering if to walk out the door and never come back to the life that was all she knew. Symphony was her inspiration. She looked up. Puzzled she noted that Symphony was back, un-diverted and of her own free will, into her cage she flew. The cage door remained open. So Symphony was neither in the cage nor out and what a confused melody she sang.

‘I understand’ she said to Symphony. ‘A little taster once in a while perhaps, but of what consequence is that? Does it nourish your soul, inspire you to explore or does the fear of the unknown signal your return? For all you know Symphony, is that little cage and even when now the choice is yours, its not that easy a decision to make, is it? The world neither labels you a trespasser, nor welcomes you with open arms’

She stared at the door to the world she knew and even ventured to peer outside, and though she felt caged like Symphony, she understood then that should she take one step out in the cold, she wouldn’t know if to turn left or right. If she wished hard enough she thought enthusiastically, a voice would lead her to the warm embrace of comfort. Disappointment awaited though, for each time she tried, she was greeted by an ambiguous silence. Back into the familiar she went and like Symphony’s cage, she left the door to the world unlocked but sat within it and while Symphony sang her song, she wept trapped tears that never escaped through her eyes as she stared at the open door. Once again she drowned in the thoughts that were of all of the above. The end!

empty eyes

Once upon a time
A time when she saw a sign
A sign and her future in his eyes
Amidst fears and tears but (un)happy cries
Was it what it was?

In between she looks back at the time
The time when it was what it was
And questions with a pause…
‘what it was was a lie’
‘what it was did not lie’
who saw what? Who showed what?

Yet today when she looked in his eyes
Some truths were lies
She cried, she smiled
she sighed.

And if tomorrow may be hers
Or today she borrows
and tomorrow is of sorrows
or today is hers
who knows?
Gold and gain, cold moments of pain

So where the truth lies
Is in his eyes
But when her eyes asked his
His eyes stared back empty!

The strength of the unspoken word

Sometimes things are better left unsaid. These words could be unspoken because they are uncomfortable or obvious or unexplored. Whatever the reason, need we ask? If we search ourselves, the answer couldn’t be any clearer! Sometimes having the answer delivered in a platter in the form of words is all we desire because we need to have confirmation, because we are scared to be right or wrong, because we are scared to draw our own (unfavourable) inferences or just need to hear a voice that is not the one in our heads.

Humans are blessed with instinct. We hide inside the ‘I don’t know cloud’ because the sky is a bit daunting. ‘I never saw it coming’ is usually another way of saying ‘I totally ignored it and now I have to deal with it!’, ‘He loves me, he loves me not’ is gobbledygook and there is no such thing as an ambiguous smile when the smiler has eyes! If we read the signals using our senses, especially the sixth one, the strength of the unspoken word is so intoxicatingly in our faces, it’s too hard to miss! What we then do with the information is what makes the difference between right or wrong, happiness or sadness, strength or weakness. The point is it’s unspoken, but not unheard!

So to you at the cross roads not knowing if to turn left or right, I think you do know!

p.s and to you who claim not to have the foggiest idea what I am on about, I suggest to you that indeed you do. Dig deep!

ok christmas is over but.... MY LETTER TO SANTA

Dear Santa,

It’s that time of the year again. Everyone has sent you their requests and I am sure you are inundated at the moment. I am sorry to bother you.

I have tried, but haven’t particularly been the best I could possibly be this year. I have made a few mistakes. I hear though, that you have a big heart so I hope you can forgive me. The last time you would have heard from me would have been when I was 8 years old or thereabout and I asked you for a dolly. Thank you for that, she was beautiful. I haven’t come to you in a few years because I have been busy growing up. Shortly after that request I went into my teenage years and my eyes began to see the world differently and I lost my prelapsarian childhood/youth. Now, things are not that simple any more. Being a woman has brought with it all sorts of responsibilities and challenges that I never imagined possible as a child. Maybe if knew then what I knew now, I would have asked you for something a little bit different.

In lieu of this Santa, this year, I ask for something pretty intangible. Santa, this world is such a crazy maze. A lot of times I find myself going left or right and still ending up in the same spot. Santa, this world is fraught with winding roads. I know I am merely human and should expect nothing supernatural about my foresight but sometimes I wonder if a little peep ahead would have been asking too much. Santa, this world is full of disappointment and shock and twist and pain and Santa, tell me, who created death? Why can we never be prepared for the pain?

So I was telling you about my request for something ethereal this year, I won’t ask you for a dolly. But, I won’t ask you for courage or good vision or the power to deal with emotional trauma. This year Santa, I ask you to reduce me to love. If I am able to love as God intended love to be, then I think I will be alright. I will be able to forgive, I will be able to forget, I will be able to accept people for who they are and despite flaws, they will be endeared to me. I will be able to rise above disappointment and I will be able to see the bigger picture when I know that I will never mortally see someone I love ever again because they have died. I will be able to look at my maze or winding road and embrace the challenge and where I would normally complain and wallow in self pity; instead, I will smile and be thankful for the two feet of straight road that is within my vision at that point in time. When a baby cries Santa, I will forget about the panic of what baby needs at that time, but instead tickle baby’s gorgeous toes and bask in the most beautiful sound of baby giggling, for God who created ten perfect little toes obviously has a sense of humour – amazing! When my friend rings me up at midnight with a problem too big for her shoulders, I will love her enough to not look at my watch every other second or yawn or bring my own problems into the conversation. When I wake up and go outside to breathe in the fresh air of the morning and the neighbour says good morning, I will not try to read between the lines, I will not wonder what she is trying to say or if she stole my bin, I will, in breathing that morning air, breathe in enough love to say good morning back and mean just that! I hope to receive the gift of love that when I behold a beautiful daffodil, I will stop to appreciate the beautiful things in life.

Santa, yesterday morning, my daughter put a striking flower in my hair and she was convinced the flower made me the most gorgeous woman in the whole wide world. ‘It’s yovyi mummy’ she said. Something in her outlook to life softened my heart instantly. Therefore Santa, I reckon that if I could love, love and love with her naivety, that I will be able to see life through her eyes, the eyes of a child. If I can do this, the world will be brand new again and when I smile, it will come from somewhere deep down in my heart.

Ok so maybe this is a bit premature Santa, I forgot to ask, do you do intangible gifts? Thank you and merry Christmas!