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I was having a coffee the other day when I overheard the women talking at the table next to me. I’m not normally an eavesdropper, but their conversation intrigued me.
“...and then, he has the audacity to request that we split the bill! Oh it was the worst date ever!”
The friend sitting opposite her handed her a tissue to dab her face with, which at this point, looked like a huge wet, red balloon.
“...I thought I liked him you know? But he’s just not my type.”
Isn’t this always the case? But what does “just not my type” actually mean?
Anybody with the intelligence of a paper bag knows that you can’t exactly get to know a person completely on a first date. Firsts are mostly packed with awkward moments, uncomfortable silences, silly mistakes and mismatched expectations.
Usually very high expectations.
Perhaps it’s because us women tend to base a lot on the little things. For instance, if he plays with a baby, it must mean that he wants a dozens of his own! Or if he brings you a bunch of bouncing blossoms, it must mean that he is a gentle and generous lover. Too easily we make up our minds right then and there and sentence ourselves for a life with him before he’s even paid the bill.
Then poof, he goes as fast as he came.
Of course, other times the complete opposite is true, and perversely they seem to want to stay.
Now, I see nothing wrong with having standards and expectations higher that your heels but, basing judgements on remedial things like - how he packs his cupboards must be how he deals with relationships – is a bit rash.
Ok fine, a lot rash. And frankly, it’s setting you up for heartbreak.
Sometimes people confuse Mr. Right with Mr. Right hair, Mr. Right clothes and Mr. Right-sized bank account.
Tsk.
The problem with this expectation is that every nice guy who happens to come along and displays an interest gets blown off with the force of a gale wind.
I am beginning to think that quite a few Ms. Prissies prefer an arrogant and disinterested man not unlike a old-fashioned Mills and Boon protagonist.
A few weeks ago, after learning that a friend of mine had given her childhood sweetheart the boot, I hurried over to comfort her, expecting a heart wrenching breakdown.
Boy was I mistaken.
I found her primly sitting straight up on her pretty pink bed doing her nails.
“...You don’t understand, I need a man to take care of me,” she complained as she continued to file her goddamn nails. (Much to my irritation). “Being nice won’t pay my bills or take care of the family we will share; I want the Jay-Z to my Beyoncé.”
I almost chocked on my tuna salad sandwich. Once I had recovered, I quickly searched her purse to see if she was on crack.
After all, she wants an internationally acclaimed multi-million dollar musician who is already married to one of the most beautiful women on earth… If that’s not a cause for alarm I don’t’ know what is.
I realised the only crack-y thing about her was when her mother dropped her on her head.
“What?” I yelled louder than I intended to, “You want to sit on your cute little ass and wish for a man with a financial plan? What happened to becoming the doctor you dreamed of being?”
In response, she called me mean, which made me, with all the sarcasm I could muster, roll my eye balls back until I swear I could see my brain.
As I was watched her babble on, I couldn’t help but realise that she will never find her imagined Jay-Z because simply, she is no Beyoncé.
You see, Lady Bey is everything Ms Prissy is not.
Sure she might be musically inclined, with a score of personal trainers, a flock of PR consultants but above all, she is incredibly hardworking and self-reliant. Something that Ms. Prissy was clearly not.
Before she attracted Jay-Z, she was Jay-Z. She was the man she wanted to date.
A man wants a woman who he can view as his equal, not some one-night-stand who becomes his baby mama overnight.
After all, who wants a woman who moans and groans and wants to be looked after like a real life Barbie doll?
And, why would you want to be the woman dependent on a man who can leave you in a heartbeat for a newer version of what you pretend to be?
Even though standards are good to have, we should be realistic about it and not aspire to perfection unless it be in ourselves.
We should be more open to getting to know a guy before deciding what “type” he is. We should strive to become what we seek in a partner. You should want to date you, how else can you expect anyone else to want to.
Besides, if you attract the likeness of yourself, your chances of having your expectations shot down will be much slimmer. And that’s the mission, after all.
Follow Gadeeja and Women24 on Twitter.
“...and then, he has the audacity to request that we split the bill! Oh it was the worst date ever!”
The friend sitting opposite her handed her a tissue to dab her face with, which at this point, looked like a huge wet, red balloon.
“...I thought I liked him you know? But he’s just not my type.”
Isn’t this always the case? But what does “just not my type” actually mean?
Anybody with the intelligence of a paper bag knows that you can’t exactly get to know a person completely on a first date. Firsts are mostly packed with awkward moments, uncomfortable silences, silly mistakes and mismatched expectations.
Usually very high expectations.
Perhaps it’s because us women tend to base a lot on the little things. For instance, if he plays with a baby, it must mean that he wants a dozens of his own! Or if he brings you a bunch of bouncing blossoms, it must mean that he is a gentle and generous lover. Too easily we make up our minds right then and there and sentence ourselves for a life with him before he’s even paid the bill.
Then poof, he goes as fast as he came.
Of course, other times the complete opposite is true, and perversely they seem to want to stay.
Now, I see nothing wrong with having standards and expectations higher that your heels but, basing judgements on remedial things like - how he packs his cupboards must be how he deals with relationships – is a bit rash.
Ok fine, a lot rash. And frankly, it’s setting you up for heartbreak.
Sometimes people confuse Mr. Right with Mr. Right hair, Mr. Right clothes and Mr. Right-sized bank account.
Tsk.
The problem with this expectation is that every nice guy who happens to come along and displays an interest gets blown off with the force of a gale wind.
I am beginning to think that quite a few Ms. Prissies prefer an arrogant and disinterested man not unlike a old-fashioned Mills and Boon protagonist.
A few weeks ago, after learning that a friend of mine had given her childhood sweetheart the boot, I hurried over to comfort her, expecting a heart wrenching breakdown.
Boy was I mistaken.
I found her primly sitting straight up on her pretty pink bed doing her nails.
“...You don’t understand, I need a man to take care of me,” she complained as she continued to file her goddamn nails. (Much to my irritation). “Being nice won’t pay my bills or take care of the family we will share; I want the Jay-Z to my Beyoncé.”
I almost chocked on my tuna salad sandwich. Once I had recovered, I quickly searched her purse to see if she was on crack.
After all, she wants an internationally acclaimed multi-million dollar musician who is already married to one of the most beautiful women on earth… If that’s not a cause for alarm I don’t’ know what is.
I realised the only crack-y thing about her was when her mother dropped her on her head.
“What?” I yelled louder than I intended to, “You want to sit on your cute little ass and wish for a man with a financial plan? What happened to becoming the doctor you dreamed of being?”
In response, she called me mean, which made me, with all the sarcasm I could muster, roll my eye balls back until I swear I could see my brain.
As I was watched her babble on, I couldn’t help but realise that she will never find her imagined Jay-Z because simply, she is no Beyoncé.
You see, Lady Bey is everything Ms Prissy is not.
Sure she might be musically inclined, with a score of personal trainers, a flock of PR consultants but above all, she is incredibly hardworking and self-reliant. Something that Ms. Prissy was clearly not.
Before she attracted Jay-Z, she was Jay-Z. She was the man she wanted to date.
A man wants a woman who he can view as his equal, not some one-night-stand who becomes his baby mama overnight.
After all, who wants a woman who moans and groans and wants to be looked after like a real life Barbie doll?
And, why would you want to be the woman dependent on a man who can leave you in a heartbeat for a newer version of what you pretend to be?
Even though standards are good to have, we should be realistic about it and not aspire to perfection unless it be in ourselves.
We should be more open to getting to know a guy before deciding what “type” he is. We should strive to become what we seek in a partner. You should want to date you, how else can you expect anyone else to want to.
Besides, if you attract the likeness of yourself, your chances of having your expectations shot down will be much slimmer. And that’s the mission, after all.
Follow Gadeeja and Women24 on Twitter.
