Since last week’s piece ran, I have been baptised a gold digger, a stupid, lazy, misguided woman. I do not care. I expected it. After all we live in a world where it is alright for men to be as particular about women’s looks as they want but women cannot be particular about men’s pockets.
Nobody seems to have heard that one of a woman’s innate needs in a man is security and in this economy, that security means money or at the very least, a man who is a good provider.
Anyhow, at least the women seemed to get it. They chipped in with other tips on knowing he is a faker.
Yes sisters! Expose them expose them! The harshest critics of were, of course, part of team broke, or stingy which are nearly the same thing because sisters, if the money isn’t coming to you, of what use is it then?
Have you noticed how it is always the broke guys who say “love me as I am?” Or complain about gold diggers? They are the ones who vilify us women who are not willing to sleep in a leaking house on an empty stomach in the name of love.
Enough about that for now, I was going to launch into how to know he likes you or loves you but then I realised, if I did know that, I would not have a retinue of exes. I will instead touch on a dilemma I had some months back, back when I had that brief reunion with Moses. Does the quality of the sex matter when there is love in a relationship?
For me it totally does. You see, Moses is all that and a bag of chips. But as far as fulfillment goes, he falls awfully short if you get my drift. Then there is crazy Musa from long long ago, just average looking, with the manners of a caveman and about as affectionate as an ice sculpture but damn, a night with him was a tour of the galaxies.
All the time I was with Moses, I was wondering whether I would be able to stay a lifetime knowing very well the sex will always just be so so.
Given how things went with Musa, I am pretty sure, great sex does not a relationship make or sustain. But then again it must be important otherwise I would have fought harder for Moses.
The one good thing to come out of the end of that relationship is that I worry no more. Now his shortcomings (literally) are some else’s problem. Poor poor girl.
Meanwhile, he is walking around thinking he is the bees knees in the sack, because of course that is the impression I strove to maintain by inordinately loud moans and endless praise. Poor, poor man!