I used to think what women wanted was simple. Men just weren’t smart enough to figure it out. Then I found myself at one too many happy hours trying to break down this complicated concoction of a dream man that my friends and I created.
He’s not too tall but not Jermaine Dupri short. He’s in shape but not one of those Chyna type body builders. He’s a man’s man but can express himself. He reads the Wall Street Journal but can drop a few Biggie lines when appropriate. He trusts me but will shake me every now and then to remind me that I’m his woman. Simple right? Hell to the no.
I’m giving myself a headache. I can’t keep up with my own recipe for the perfect man.
That’s why I stopped trying to paint the image of the guy I created in my head. The idea of him is like writing a thesis with no focus. It’s all over the place. And the more time I’ve focused on it, the more time I’ve wasted on the BS process of picking a life mate. It’s like being a college scout and visiting players hoping to find the one player that can give you the biggest bang for your buck.
And who am I kidding? Scouting isn’t as fun as it used to be. Thanks to this microwave, instant access and gratification lifestyle, it’s actually, well…rather time consuming. I mean, am I the only one who gets tired of repeating my favorite things, my biography, my my my? And then the he, he, he. Only to conclude with, we’re not really compatible.
So I thought, as a woman – I am cursed. I was born and groomed into believing in this fairytale vision of a man.
But then something happened. Beyonce opened her blazer, rubbed her belly and as the camera panned to Jay-Z, the world witnessed a brotha cheesing at the sight of his woman. His wife. The future mother of his child. And then he saluted her.
You may read this and think I’m crazy. I’ve overdosed on the Jayonce juice. But I haven’t. It was at that moment that I realized this. I don’t want Jay-Z nor am I asking for a man of Jay’s wealth, status etc.
I just want a man who treats me the way he wants me to treat him. And if he respects himself, then he will expect me to treat him like a king. Then he will expect me to cheese at his presence. To salute him in public and in private because we know the work we put into our love and what we get in return. To take pride in the thought of carrying his child. And most importantly, that despite the pressures of life, that we’ll commit to doing things on our time.
So to me, that is what women really want. Or at this least one does.