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The Perfect Woman

When VK announced his project to enlist a crew of beaver buster bloggers to write about the perfect woman, I planned at first to crank out some glib, but truthful, response like:

The perfect woman is the one for whom you can leave the money on the nightstand. Prostitutes at least have the integrity to deliver the goods every time.

But then I sobered up and decided to take a serious stab at this topic because I’m a romantic at heart.

It’d be easy to write about the perfect fantasy woman:

sex on demand
cooks and cleans in crotchless panties
no backtalk
always in shape
never gets old
gives everything, asks for nothing
never cheats
treats you like a king no matter what you do
never farts, burps, shits, or gives birth

but since we don’t live on another planet as a different species where the rules of human nature don’t apply I’ll keep it within the realm of believability.

Most importantly, the perfect woman has to be imperfect. She has to have at least one flaw you can exploit to keep her feet on the ground and her head out of the clouds. Plus, it makes her more human and, through osmosis, makes you more human. This type is not hard to find since every woman has flaws. The only perfect women are the ones who are made perfect by worshipful betas.

But don’t ever say you’re not looking for the perfect woman. You are, and that should be your mindset. You don’t set out searching for your soulmate selling yourself short with a list of lover exemptions that gives her a pass on pleasing you. Where would you draw the line with that defeatist attitude? No blowjobs are OK as long as she looks good? Bitchiness is fine if she’s nice to you in private? You see the problem with that thinking.

The perfect woman doesn’t sweat the small stuff. There was a dusty, rocky trail in the woods leading up a small hill in my old neighborhood where I grew up that I would walk as a teenager when I needed time to think away from people. Sometimes I would clamber up this trail at night during a summer rainstorm and my sneakers would get caked in mud. At the top I’d sit on the ground and let the rain and mud soak me. It’s liberating to stop caring. Could she join me? If she understands the spirit of living in the moment and putting aside inconsequential worries, if she never once complains about her sneakers getting muddy or the rain messing up her hair, if she HAS PERSPECTIVE… then she is one step nearer perfection.

The perfect woman embraces our polarity. She loves being a girl and loves surrendering to my manly will. She is never resentful of sex differences or the way men view the world. She accepts it as an unalterable part of life, and learns to need it, to nourish her feminine soul with it.

The perfect woman doesn’t flake. Yes, this is a girly trait and a symptom of over-estrogenation, but it’s one of their blatant weaknesses, and should not be encouraged. Just as manly men are prone to the weaknesses of masculinity (war, violence) womanly women are prone to the weaknesses of femininity (indecisiveness, fickleness).

The perfect woman is not a status whore. She doesn’t measure the worth of her life by her standing in society. True, women prefer a higher status man than themselves, and this reality should be accepted by men AND women. But there is a difference between kneeling at the altar of status like a disciple, and paying your taxes to an impersonal government agency.

The perfect woman does not treat love like a supplement to life. It isn’t that one final piece of avant garde furniture that will tie the room together. It isn’t the thing you do after you’ve done all these other things. Love IS life. Everything we do in our short lives is just prelude to the climax of falling in love. Any girl who thinks and acts otherwise is deliberately lying to herself, and that means she will lie to you.

The perfect woman respects and loves the desires of men. She admires men for their purity. This means she stays the fuck in shape. That is one critical way a woman demonstrates her love for a man. Unconditional love is the heartbeat of poetry but it’s a great false god in the grimy world we inhabit. Love me, love my needs, and you will get the same treatment in return.

The perfect woman caresses my face in the morning because it is her right.

The perfect woman improvises. If things don’t go her way she won’t bitch and moan; she’ll discover new enjoyment in change. Her will is strong, but not straitjacketed.

The perfect woman reaches across the table first to touch my hand. Her eyes are sad over flickering candlelight and half-drunk glasses of wine and her soul is laid bare for me.

The perfect woman hates when I’m away.

The perfect woman makes me never regret my memories of her if she goes.

The perfect woman inspires me to love her.

The perfect woman knows she isn’t.

Tomorrow: The perfect woman as told by this guy.


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