There was a time, in my younger years, when the list of requirements in a guy, upon first meeting, was purely aesthetic. The eyes were always the initial feature on the checklist. Never mind them being the windows to the soul, it was more the "come to bed" aspect that appealed to me.
Next it was the smile. Soft lips and great, white teeth working in partnership to form a perfect and kissable mouth. Then it was the hands. Big, manly (but moisturised) hands. If his hands were dirty then, sure as hell, other parts of him would be filthy, and not in a good way.
And lastly in this five second scanning process, I'd consider the shoes. The footwear a guy chooses says a lot about his tastes and personality; Converse Allstars- cool, in an understated way; trendy trainers- "I'll love my shoe collection more than I could ever love you, especially if just for tonight"; brogues- traditional and a bit geeky; spatz- unless it's fancy dress, run a mile!
These days, in my late-twenties, the requirements have most definitely changed order. Some of the early-twenties essentials even being eliminated entirely from the list. When a girl reaches her late-twenties, society's expectations of what she should be looking for in life drastically change. No longer is she allowed to seek a "quick fix" or permitted to "take things slowly and see how it goes". No. When we are approaching thirty, us girls are expected to search for husband material as phrases such as "the one" are thrown at us from all angles. Angles such as our parents, their friends, our friends who have settled down and worst of all, my seven year old cousin.
So the order had to change not necessarily because I wanted or needed it to but because I was pressured to enforce it. I now scan my potential victim like a lioness stalks her prey, though I want the result to lead to a date rather than ripping the creature apart and feeding him to my cubs. I take into account the change in priorities on my tick list, subconsciously comparing them to the needs of my younger, carefree self.
Still the eyes matter first. These could be the eyes that I stare at for the next forty years or more, so I have to feel a "connection" of sorts when I look into them, right? Next it's the hands - yes, they've gone up in the league table. However, it's not the cleanliness that first grabs my attention about this part of his anatomy, though it still matters a lot. Or these potentially being the hands that will cradle our children, wipe the tears from their eyes and ruffle their hair when they've been cheeky. Now the focus is the left hand. Specifically, the third finger on the left hand. If there's nothing on it then I can continue with my random and seemingly superficial checklist, reading into the smallest detail and drawing my own, perhaps very wrong, conclusions.
You see, the appearance of a shiny (or dull) ring on the third finger of the left hand pierces into the heart like the dagger of a cheating lover - for this subject of study, the specimen that gave me butterflies in my tummy and goosebumps all over the instant we made eye-contact is so perfect that he's been snapped up already. The permission to speedily scan his lips, his arms, his derrière and his shoes (in that order these days) has been denied by a silent but powerful force - his wife.
Seeing the ring, the ultimate declaration of commitment, gets me thinking - perhaps this was a guy that I let go of ten years ago. I don't mean literally as I'd like to think, even thirteen years on, I can remember all the names and faces of the boys I've "encountered". What I mean is maybe I had been intimate with someone like him in my younger years but as I wasn't a victim of society's expectations in those days, I didn't even consider him as future marriage material. For all one knows, if I had have, I wouldn't be in the position I'm in now, disappointing friends and parents with my prolonged periods of singledom. Had I have been made aware that I would be seen, by some, as a lesser individual for being an unmarried, independent, late-twenties woman when I was younger, would I have been more likely to have "snapped up" a boy I snared when I was in my prime? Have these boys I see now, with the shiny (or dull) wedding bands, always been perfect as future husbands but I ignored them as such because I was expected to five years ago?
I get angry with myself for allowing society to make me feel inadequate for various reasons, not fulfilling expectations that strangers put on me. The one area I've continually refused to bow down to the pressure is when it comes down to relationships. Questions fired at me about my marital status are often met with sarcastic responses:
Attached friend, "So, you're still single then?" (this comes with the obligatory, sympathetic head tilt). My response, "Yes, I ate my last boyfriend for dinner last night".
Newly married friend, "Don't you want to get married then?". Me, "Yes, actually my in-built alarm clock plays the wedding march in my head every morning".
Friend who has recently discovered parenthood, "Don't you think you should start having children soon?". My answer, "Sorry, I couldn't hear your question over the ticking of my body clock and my uterus wailing. Would you mind repeating yourself, please?".
The bottom line is yes, I do want to be in a committed relationship and yes, I do want children but this all needs to be when it's right for me. Not when, en masse, everybody I know thinks the time is right for me. I'll know the right time, surely?
To my next partner - don't worry, darling, I won't be putting bridal magazines and House and Home on the coffee table every time you come over. Nor will I be dropping hints about which baby names sound great with your surname. But I feel I should let you know that I love platinum. And, thinking about it, I have always dreamed of walking out of St. Paul's Cathedral followed by seven bridesmaids. You understand, I'm not telling you all this because I want to, rather that I must! x
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