My Perfect Man

A couple of weeks ago, I got a text message from Dr Angel saying that I was mentioned on a blog post she’d just written.  I hurriedly went onto the internet to have a look and was confronted with a post called My Perfect Man.  Finally, I assumed, somebody had taken the time to document just how amazing I am.  It was about time.

Alas, I had sadly gotten the wrong end of the stick.  It wasn’t about me at all.  Why was this happening?  Why would she tease me in this way?  Was I not, indeed, perfect?  It appeared not.

After I had composed myself from my narcissistic devastion, I read the post again.  I had been blog-tagged.  I didn’t even know blog-tagging existed.  I still don’t know whether it’s actually called blog-tagging.  It’s all a mystery.  In short, she was challenging me and several other bloggers to write our own version of “My Perfect Man”.

The doc assured me that I could write “My Perfect Woman” and I set my tiny mind to this incredibly tough challenge.  I’ll be honest, I was struggling, but today was going to be my attempt at it.  However, when I had a look at what the other tagees had written, I noticed that they’d all stuck with “My Perfect Man”, even the men.  Surely writing about a woman would be cheating and breaking every rule in the blog-tagging book (to be fair, I don’t know if there are blog-tagging rules, but I’ll assume that this is one of them).

So.  My Perfect Man.  How the hell am I going to answer that?  Under what circumstances would I need a man, and what criteria would he need to fulfil to achieve perfection in this role?  Blah.  I’ve got nothing.

Maybe my perfect man is the kind of man that I’d like to be.  Sure, I’m already pretty close to perfection, but which bits do I need to tweak?  Well, I can certainly think of a few areas that I’d like to improve, but do I really want to bare my soul in a jovial blogging challenge?  Probably not.

I’m going to have to think outside the box and just go with my gut instinct.   In this case, my perfect man would have to be Burt Reynolds in Smokey and The Bandit.  He drives a fast car, complete with onboard Sally Field.  He’s got a lovely red shirt (I want it).  He pulls off the cowboy\moustache combination in an incredulously heterosexual manner.  And he’s got best laugh in the world.

Perfect.