Spoiler alert..... I am about to spill a "girl" secret and will certainly be fined by the estrogen police. It won't be the first time. I am about to have my license suspended for unpaid tickets.
The question that seems to plague men everywhere and, most certainly contributes to receding hairlines is, "What do women want?". The answer may seem rife with gender prejudice and open to lengthly psycho-analysis, but it is really quite simple.
We don't know what we want.
So, when asked by a friend who was called upon to assist me with a new profile, what kind of man attracts me.....there was no easy or linear answer.
Initially of course, I lean towards the intelligent, the witty and the creative. Tall, thin, slightly rumpled bookish types who sometimes forget to comb their hair, haven't a clue what the purpose of a ratchet wrench is and sometimes wear cardigans......intrigue me to no end.
But.......there's something about a big, bad, bald guy. One who can throw me over his shoulder and carry me up the stairs without breaking a sweat. One who can fix my lawn mower with the swiss army knife he keeps in his back pocket. One who hop into a semi and, without any prior training, drive it around the block looking like Steve McQueen.
Problems will ensue however, if said big, bad, bald guy ( and forgive me if I discriminate ) thinks Fellini is a type of pasta, Khafka is a kosher cold medicine or Hyden is a part of the female anatomy.
And......given that the thought of getting onto a motorcycle is, to me, as appealing as having a root canal, I would surmise that what attracts me would be......
A big, bad, bald guy with a PHD.
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