WHAT DO WOMEN WANT

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Caveat: I’m in absolute realization of the futility behind this heading. It would take light years, an apocalypse, a human race rejuvenation, more bites of the apple from the tree of knowledge – chill Eve, an honest politician, a soupless stew from Central Kenya, an I love you too from a crush and other impracticable things. I’d probably wear cornrows on my head, and you would be able to lick your forehead before the reply to What Do Women Want is determined. A diva it is, the title. It goes for manicures and pedicures twice a week and only takes baths, fine wine in hand, roses strewn on its marble bathroom tiles and Whitney Houston in the air. It isn’t the type to leave you on read. (blueticks). It’s the frosty type that will see your message, give it a dart look and snob. You aren’t worth it’s time or response, hell, who are you? (I feel compelled to add ‘even’ because ‘who are you’ just doesn’t sound right without even?) So take 2; who are you even? No romance without finance? Okay, I take that back, I still want to live to hear Rihanna’s next album. All I’m saying is – this piece is inconclusive, if you came looking for an answer my bad, I’m in pursuit too, but maybe as we rummage through we might score something, you in? Oh, I’ll be using the term ‘women’ loosely.

One time I was binging on videos from the YouTube channel ‘Over 25’. Don’t ask me why a guy is high on them, I don’t know, all I know is I’m a junkie. It will take a lightning strike, an atomic bomb and dinosaur tears to stop me because Jules wuueh! I would say she is a snack but then I know overly sensitive folk are lurking and I don’t want to be accused of objectifying women so I’ll stick to saying it intrapersonally. I was watching the ‘Smash or Pass 254 edition’. Buckle up, here’s where it gets interesting; Nick Mutuma’s picture comes up. And nobody, not one gave him a smash, crazy. They all gave reasons that seemed so flimsy to me. But one stood out, like the proverbial sore thumb. Someone said – drumroll – “Nah, he’s too cute, I feel like I’d spoil his make up or something” (paraphrased). What! Too cute? All my life I’ve always known women hold penchance for good looking guys, the handsome geezers or even better the cute variation. Then here are 3 beautiful Jules, sorry, 3 beautiful women bringing light to such a thing as ‘too cute’. I feel like beckoning to my average looking blokes and saying ‘avengers attack’ or ‘we attack at sunrise’. Apparently, women want a handsome man but not too handsome. They want a beautiful man but don’t want to feel like they’re both battling for a spot, competition is unwelcome.

Oft-times you’ll want to take a damsel out or just ask her what she wants to eat and even make the guileless decision of expecting a definite answer.

“So what will you have?” you ask.

She’ll pause, then retort, “I’ll have what you have.”

“I’ll have fried beef, should I order for two?”

She’ll promptly break into a tirade of No’s. “No no no no no,” I don’t want beef.

“Then what do you want?” you quiz , now slightly irked.

She’ll pause again, at this point the waiter/waitress is vexed too so they retreat and attend to other clients, clients who know what they want. She’ll come out of it and order something mundane, “I’ll have a croissant and mango juice.” “Oh, you don’t have croissants? Then bring me Biryani and juice, passion juice this time.” You sigh. Amidst the dining she’ll dip her spoon into your plate and scoop a huge chunk of your meal. In her plate lies three quarter full Biryani. Then she’ll titter in attempt to pacify you. You relent, because some wars are never meant to be won, you might win but a cold shoulder is no good. Women want food, food with an elusive name. They have a slight idea of what they want but not quite. The most certain thing; they want your food though.

They want good guys. An honest chap who has his shit together. Then the guy comes along and they revert, now they want a bad guy, a villain kind of. One to make them feel like they’re living a little. One to shoplift flowers and hand it to them because purchased flowers don’t bear the same appeal, they’re not as edgy. They want someone who sneaks out to see them and not one who pleas for a nod, hopefully not from a wife. The catchphrase ‘Bad boys ain’t no good, good boys ain’t no fun’ couldn’t apply more. It show’s the complexities therein. To women good boys are only made for the long haul, marriage, long relationships and stuff, this is after they’ve quelled their curiosity. They’ll say good boys take you to heaven, which is good. Cute. And all. But bad boys bring the heaven to you which has the more alluring aggressive factor. What, sheila, heaven is heaven. As long as you’re there. There you are, a good boy athlete, in the outer most lane. Deemed to finish last. Hang in there ho-ho.

Like women, the header above pleads for an honest answer, enticingly. “Just tell me the truth, I promise I won’t get mad,” the title begs. But the bottomline, underneath its multi-faceted layers. It doesn’t want an honest answer, there is no honest answer. The nuances of feminine wants are obscure, it’s like solving a rubik’s cube – you come painfully close only to realise you have to start all over again. It will tell you things like ‘I need a boyfriend like you’ yet you are a boyfriend like you. It’s a dodgy terrain to tread. It’s smooth. Then rough. Then ruggedy. It’s all but a stack of contradictions, beautiful contradictions if I may.

Courtesy of Pinterest

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