My boyfriend is a man.
He is a 37 year-old, extremely handsome plumbing contractor and business owner. He owns a home (and a rented unit next door) in one of the most beautiful zip codes in the United States, one mile from the Pacific coast. He has every tool in every size. When he comes home from work, he smells like earthy metal. He has a brilliant and beautiful girlfriend that he wants to spend the rest of his life with. He helps to support his parents financially. He farts (loudly). He once admitted that he liked fake boobs because, and I quote, “they won’t fall to the side when you’re on your back.” (He’s gonna be pissed I told you that.) He drives a Ford F150 pickup with an eight-foot bed. He calls his friends, “Bro.” He is really good at math (he can do complex fractions in his head!) He loves classic rock.
His masculinity is intoxicating. When he tells me he loves me, I feel like a modern-day Pretty Woman (except I was never a hooker. And Justin owns a plumbing company, not Richard Lewis Enterprise). As pretty women, we are biologically drawn to men that work hard so they can provide for the ones they love. This is science.
But who am I to speak for all women? Perhaps not ALL women want to be rescued. (Though I bet more do than want to admit it.)
I wonder which is higher: the percentage of women who do NOT (even a little bit) want to be rescued or the percentage of women who do NOT (even a little bit) want be a mother. My money’s on the later.
…But that might just be my personal bias.
I do not want children. Awwww, you’ll change your mind. They all say in a condescending tone that puts Baby back in the corner. For 36 years, my non-maternal instinct has never wavered. This much I know to be true: I absolutely never want to be pregnant.
A baby is not part of this pretty woman’s love story.
So what happens after he climbs up the tower and rescues her?
She rescues him right back.