By Claudia Everly
I am not an anti-feminist. I am evolved. And for the past 3 years, I’ve been a pretty shameless bachelorette – we are, after all, living in the 21st century, and I’m an educated lady with a career and a healthy dollop of self-confidence. I feed myself, clothe myself and I clean up after myself (more or less – my dishes like lying in the sink for two weeks – it’s called SOAKING, mom). Still, yesterday, when tragedy struck (let’s just say it way a shitty situation), I couldn’t help but hastily and unabashedly think the following thought: “F*** my life. I need an effing man.” And this was not the only time, sadly. The following are a couple of mercifully few situations that I just can’t handle by myself.
Bees and other winged menaces
Not all men can remain calm in the face of a such ludicrously inane, but very real threat. But if anyone else had ever seen me dancing around with a shoe (my weapon of choice) while I haphazardly attempt shoo a bee/ /fly/wasp out of my apartment, I’d have to place them into the witness protection programme. Bonus if I manage to slay the unwelcome intruder – the only thing worse than a bee is a bee corpse, thankyouverymuch.
A make-shift pillow spooning device is indeed more or less possible, but it’s not very practical or socially acceptable. Nor does it provide the heat only another living and breathing human does. Especially if you’re a perpetually cold lizard woman like me – at times, I have considered sitting on a street corner in my PJs with a clapboard sign reading “will have sex for spoon”.
DSL – the root of all that is evil
Last week an IT-guru friend of my came to visit, and when he asked for my DSL password, I had to admit I had none. He then discovered that I had unwittingly been sharing my internet with my neighbours, which is probably why, for the last year, it’s taken me 10 minutes to access my email. Damn you Claudia and your feminine ways. I hate technology (except when it’s working, which seems to be never). I just want someone to do it for me. I just can’t.
Don’t get me wrong – if I love you, I love the fact that you’re getting married and that you’ve found someone, and I’ll always cry at least a few tears of genuine happiness watching you tie the knot. But being in a room full of sometimes smug, sometimes not-so-smug couples is enough to drive me to an early stage of insanity – or at least to the bar, where beer and wine is at the ready to solemnly comfort me in my moment of singledom. I hate to sound like a bad sitcom cliché, but I swear I’d take my cousin and pawn him off as my new boyfriend, if said cousin wasn’t also married off.
Ehm … let’s just say plumbing issues
Gross. I’m sure men aren’t fans of it either, but I don’t have the stones for it. A clogged toilet is disgusting and vile, and I refuse to allow an trace of human excrement (even if it’s mine) anywhere near my newly manicured hands. No. I. will. not.
IKEA – friend and foe
The Swedish furniture giant is known for its user-friendly designs and dummy-proof instructions, but let’s just say the only tool I own is a hammer, and it’s about 10cm long with a really killer floral design. The most heartbreaking part is the fact that I love everything else about the place – love shopping in it, I love the IKEA monkey and spend an inordinate amount dog-earing my little catalogue. But I can’t for the life of me put it together. At this point I’d like to say, thanks Dad!