Men. They are basically dirty, smelly, childish, emotionally unstable commitment-phobes. Who enjoy farting, watching sport, drinking beer and seeing who can burp the loudest. I think I hate them.
Except for when they open the duvet for you in their sleep, in the middle of the night when you come back from going to the loo.
Or when they brag about you to their friends when they don’t think you’re listening.
When they fix the sound system with one simple flick of a Leatherman, just when you had given up on it and were about to go out and spend three grand on a new one.
And make you a cup of tea if they wake up before you in the morning, slipping in a spoon of honey, because they remember you’re trying to cut out sugar.
When they let you win at backgammon if they can tell you’re in a bad mood. Or rub your feet/back/tummy when you’ve got cramps.
Or come through with an enormous bunch of flowers for no particular reason, not just on birthdays and anniversaries.
When they charm your mother, make small talk with your father or give advice to your brother.
Watch a romantic Meg Ryan movie with you, and not tease you when you cry buckets at the end.
Go full nights with your head resting on their arm, not waking you up even when their whole arm has gone dead.
Tell you when it’s ok to open your eyes during a gross or scary part of a movie.
Schlep with you to the airport to fetch a relative at 6:30 am on a Sunday morning.
Let you choose a video every now and then.
Carry the heavy bags up to the house from the car after you’ve been shopping.
Tell you that your roast chicken is better than their mother’s.
Try have sex with you, even though you’ve just woken up, looking your worst, with rotweiler-style morning breath.
Wax their back because they know you like it smooth.
Hold your hair back, out of your face when you vomit.
Get rid of any rats, mice, snakes, crickets, moths, spiders or cockroaches that make their way into the house.
Befriend your girlfriends. Touch your cheek. Send you dirty sms’s.
Not notice when you put on four kilo’s.
Notice when you loose two.
Wake up in a good mood.
Love your cooking. (Even the tuna/squash/custard surprise.)
Still light your cigarettes, even after you’ve been dating for a while.
Let your nephews climb all over them.
Try to make you laugh when all you want to do is cry.
Drink from the same straw as you without thinking twice about it.
Clean the pool without a shirt on.
Take photographs of you when they think you aren’t looking.
Bring you back a present, even if it’s just a Chappie, when they pop down to the shops to pick up a pack of smokes.
Throw on your pink frilly bathrobe when they can’t find their blue one.
Look really happy to see you, even after the world’s worst day.
Move a wayward strand of hair out of your face and put it behind your ear.
Let your best friend cry on his shoulder when her boyfriend dumps her for another woman.
Take your cat to the vet if you can’t make it.
Remember exactly how many moles you have on your back.
Say your name.
Come rescue you when you get a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere, without making a big deal about the fact that you’re almost thirty and you still don’t know how to change a tyre.
Investigate noises in the middle of the night.
Suggest a braai on the very night you don’t feel like cooking.
Wash your car at the same time as doing their own, without you having to ask.
Call you in the middle of the day just to say hi.
Stick up for you.
Find that place, that one place where you enjoy being tickled.
Not comment when you buy ANOTHER pair of shoes you don’t need.
And keep quiet while you watch survivor, because they know it’s your most favourite TV programme.
Men. They are basically dirty, smelly, childish, emotionally unstable commitment-phobes. Who enjoy farting, watching sport, drinking beer and seeing who can burp the loudest. I think I love them.
By: Paige Nick