So B bought* this book called Why Mars & Venus collide. It's about why men and women dont understand eachother. Whilst B and I looked through it laughing at all the things that have never been done for us we realised that this book was only aimed at older married American couples who take pleasure in flower arranging and cooking for guests instead of going to pubs getting drunk and watching
sci fi documentaries and have paronoid debates about media conspiracy theories. Anyway here are some of the funny ones in the book that men are supposed to do in order to maintain a happy life happy wife.
-Take a ballroom dancing class together-
-Build a fire on a rainy day-
-Give her a window sill herb garden-
-Take her to a craft show-
-Surprise her with baked goods-
-Take her canoeing-
-Give her beautiful guest soaps-
-Take her to a dog show-
-Take her berry picking-
-Be a complete fassy for ever-
-Be a complete fassy for ever-
WHAT? WHO TOLD THIS MAN THIS IS WHAT WOMEN WANT FROM LIFE.
If I was to encounter any of these things I'd probably be pissed off. A dog show is one of the smelliest and unromantic things I can think of. You may as well hit her round the face with a fish because I know how devastating that is. On the other hand maybe B and I are just a couple of sour old wenches who are just bitter than no men have ever built us a fire or taken us canoeing. More importantly where the fuck is my herb garden? I'm clearly associating with the wrong kind of men if I haven't received my window sill herb garden by now. Vintage 1980's copies of Brazilian Playboy and a small jack knife with my name engraved on it but no herb garden. Shucks.
If I was to encounter any of these things I'd probably be pissed off. A dog show is one of the smelliest and unromantic things I can think of. You may as well hit her round the face with a fish because I know how devastating that is. On the other hand maybe B and I are just a couple of sour old wenches who are just bitter than no men have ever built us a fire or taken us canoeing. More importantly where the fuck is my herb garden? I'm clearly associating with the wrong kind of men if I haven't received my window sill herb garden by now. Vintage 1980's copies of Brazilian Playboy and a small jack knife with my name engraved on it but no herb garden. Shucks.
Now here's a nice modern day kinda love song by Onoe Capone who I can bet your bank statement on knows a thing or two about window sill herb gardens. (And probably ball room dancing too.)