That’s it, I have no more interest in dating. Dating is fucking stupid and a waste of time. I’m husband hunting from here on out. Here is my list of demands, they are all non-negotiable:
1.) Be willing to tolerate my exceptionally bad taste in music.
To give you the heads-up, this may include listening to any of the following: crooners like Amy Winehouse, senseless rap music like Lil Wayne, foreign quasi-obscure punk like Millencolin, shit that I have to look up the lyrics to like Dance Gavin Dance, drum & bass to help me feel youthful, and Lucero because I’m just midwestern enough that I’m practically required to listen to them.
2.) Do not own/wear girl pants.
I’m sorry, but usually the guys in girl pants are skinnier than I am and that will give me some kind of weird complex. I’m too old to develop an eating disorder or become a health fanatic. My fat means I can go an extra week or two without a steady supply in food. However this will never be a problem because…
3.) No more starving artists.
Can’t provide? Cannot wed and/or bed me. I’m sorry, I don’t expect to live like a queen but you should be able to go halfsies at all time. Of course, I’d really prefer if I find a male outfitted with the rugged need to be a provider. Real men are breadwinners. (Feminism is not for me, obviously.)
4.) Please do not already have or intend on making babies.
I can’t say I’m 100% sure that I never want to bear children, but now is not the time in my life to be breeding. I want adventures and to not have to share my (future) husband(s) with some screaming, obnoxious bundle. Cats are a perfectly acceptable alternative.
5.) Have the rare ability to keep your dick in your pants.
You wouldn’t think that would be so hard to come by, but it is. And no, that isn’t just because I live in California.n It’s gotten very old to constantly have reason to believe you’re fucking someone else. It’s especially awful because more often than not those “hunches” turn out to be right.
6.) Please be able to cook–WELL.
Secret: I cannot cook to save my life. I can bake, but that doesn’t help much when I want dinner and the best I can do is a PB&J. I’m not even capable of making a grilled cheese sammich without burning it. The survival of our taste buds rests in your hands! (Also, this is essential to the maintenance of my camel-like lovehandles.)
7.) For the love of all that is holy, do not be submissive to me.
I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m a complete asshole. You have to be able to fight with me without getting offended–but without letting me win. Don’t let me push you around or I will take advantage of you without realizing it. Having balls is perfectly acceptable; please use them!
8.) Be an awesome lay.
I can’t marry you if I’m not constantly trying to figure out ways to get you to fuck me in inappropriate places. The extent of our marital bliss is directly linked to my vaginal satisfaction. Period.
9.) No emotionally incapacitated twats.
I am female, and I am emotional. There’s a whole 5-8 days where I might tell you I hate you. Just give me chocolate, fuck me in the shower, and hold when I’m crying over absolutely nothing. This isn’t rocket science.
10.) Please do not be something I wouldn’t want to tell my mother about.
This is a multi-level requirement. Be physically attractive enough that I will not be too ashamed to post pictures of us together on my public Myspace. Don’t be terribly socially awkward. Have an internal censor when we’re around my family. Under no circumstances tell your friends about what happened after I had my eighth shot of Jack Daniel’s and dragged you home.
There! I only want 10 things out of my future mate–what a puny list in comparison to most women I know. If you or someone you know fits the profile of my future husband, please let me know. From there we can exchange photos and discuss living arrangements! And for the record, I’m kinda cute so this list of demands really shouldn’t be that off-putting.
Tags:
dating,
food,
love,
marriage,
men