Taking Out The Trash

Most women will admit, albeit grudgingly, to moments where they would love to be rescued by a man. Ah come on! So you’ve never contemplated doing bit of flirting to avoid getting your nails ruined washing your car? Or getting that spider squashed? Never even crossed your mind?

For me most of these moments involve taking out the trash.

Being a rampant feminist, I view ‘male’ and ‘female’ domestic tasks as totally outdated. Terribly passé.

[Okay, technically I’m more of an “equali-gist”. Word or no word, its descriptive right? Don’t expect me to go burning my g-string though. It could get mighty drafty.]

Point is, according to me there’s just plain unisex, everyone-hates-it shlep work. I don’t need a guy to fling his coat (or himself) over a puddle for me. I have very stylish black & white gumboots thank you very much. I’m also quite capable of killing my own creepy crawlies, changing the light bulb, doing the odd DIY project and, on the rare occasion where it actually crosses my mind: checking my car’s oil and water. Yet, when it comes to this one itty bitty domestic duty, I look for the nearest knight in shining armour!

I’m not a particularly squeamish person. I don’t flinch at Nip Tuck’s graphic surgery scenes or Fear Factors’ worm-gobbling nonsense. I watch whatever the horror genre has to offer with abundant relish. And I do so without having to watch peeking through my fingers. I don’t faint at the sight of blood and, as long as it isn’t a Rottweiler, I’ll even give the dog a bath. Yet, on my keychain I keep an extra long key, to a gate not attached to my door anymore, for the sole purpose of lifting the trash can’s lid when taking out the trash. Eeew…germs!!! The lengths I have gone to, to avoid touching the actual trashcan… Let’s just say that on occasion, more than one occasion, I have lifted the lid with one high-heel clad foot while balancing on the other, chucking the bag in and quickly snatching away my foot.

Now, get that mental picture out of your head. And stop sniggering. We all have our quirks.

I’m not sure how much truth is in the old saying “the path to a man’s heart leads through his stomach”, but the path to my heart definitely goes through my dustbin. Jewelry is nice. Flowers are okay. Lacy underwear is overrated. (Dude, you WILL get the size wrong. And there WILL be shit).

But when a man takes out the trash - without me asking – it…it takes my breath away. (Partly from disbelief). It makes me want to declare my undying love to wildly inappropriate men.

And have his super duper polite, helpful, magnificent babies. I mean, if they breed dogs to get a certain trait perfected… It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

The List

Watching old Friends episodes this weekend (clearly I had too much time on me hands) I was reminded of something: The List. My list to be exact… For those of you who have no clue what I’m on about, have a look at an excerpt from Episode 3.05 (The One With Frank Jr.) below:

Chandler: Well, we have a deal where we each get to pick five different celebrities that we can sleep with, and the other one can't get mad.
Ross: Ah, the heart of every healthy relationship: Honesty, respect, and sex with celebrities.
Monica: So, Chandler... who's on your list?
Chandler: Uh, Kim Basinger, Cindy Crawford, Halle Berry, Yasmine Bleeth, and, ah, Jessica Rabbit.
Rachel: Now, you do realize that she's a cartoon... and way out of your league?
Chandler: I know, I know, I just always wondered if I could get her eyes to pop out of her head.

(If you still don’t know who Chandler, Monica, Ross etc. are, then…well, then I simply can’t help you!)

I’ve been present in quite a few conversations where “The List” has been discussed and inevitable someone’s partner gets pissed off. This clever cookie has always managed to avoid actually answering that question, but ah, what the hell, here goes…

Number One: Mr. Robert Redford (10 years younger)

Yeah, and this coming from a woman who refuses to date any guy who is more than 5 years her senior. Yet, I am 100% willing to make an exception for Mr. Redford – 73 in August. I mean, any woman who has seen this man’s older movies won’t give Brad Pitt a second glance. Ever. Again.

Number Two: Mr. My own personal Boy-Next-Door

No, not literally. I actually grew up on a farm, but I’ve known him practically all my life. Why a perfectly normal guy? I think it’s the “comfortable” factor. And the fact that he is just such a good guy.

Number Three: Mr. Blast-From-The-Past

When I was at school there was this Grade 11 guy that I spent quite a bit of my Matric year staring at… and then imagining that he was staring back… Four years later at varsity I danced with him one night at a club (turns out he had been staring back) until a girlfriend dragged me back to res. (Stupid, stupid bitch! Sorry ****, I still love you!) A few months later I danced with the same guy at the same club and with the bravado of a few beers (or more likely brandy & cokes), he confessed always having a thing for me at school and asked me on a date. Now, that very afternoon I had started dating a guy exclusively. Talk about an “ah f*ckit” moment. (Mr. Blast from the past couldn’t believe it either. He just kept repeating, “but you don’t have a boyfriend. I know you don’t.”) That afternoon the new boyfriend had told me I could have some time to think before I made my decision. I told him that if I had time to think the answer probably wouldn’t be yes, so I’d rather just say yes right there and then and give him a chance. About 6 hours later I was really really wishing I had taken just one more night of being single to think about it (and to kiss the hell out of Mr. Blast-From-The-Past). I would still have answered “Yes”…just the next morning.

Number Four: Mr. Just-My-Type

Have any of you have ever met someone who is just SO your type that every time you see them you want to, ever so politely, request that they immediately rip off all your clothing? I did. When I was 19 I met my very own blue-eyed, just-my-type, boy wonder. Seven years later Mr. blue-eyed, just-my-type, Man-wonder still has exactly the same effect. (Regrettably, I’m just way to decent to actually do that whole polite request thing…still the thought does briefly cross my mind every time he crosses my path.)

Number Five: Mr. To be continued…

Maybe this time I should take some time to “think” about Number Five before I make an overly hasty decision… *Giggle*