MELLIPOP, LOVE YOUR C**T

Ok, so bolstered by a hefty shot of Vitamin B from a couple of pieces of savagely devoured Vegemite toast, I now have the much-needed strength to reflect on my last few posts and quite frankly, I’m bewildered.

As I sated my raging hunger with a good old Aussie-food stalwart, I had somewhat of an epiphany. To be precise, I was left wondering exactly why it is that historically, I have been so popular with the members of the opposite sex.

I mean seriously, if I was a bloke, I came to the blinding insight that I WOULD SO NOT BE ATTRACTED TO ME.

As I looked with detachment on the scene - a kitchen cluttered with a couple of days worth of unwashed dishes, four empty Cascade Premium beer bottles and a poor excuse for a woman in navy blue trackpants feeding her sorry self with Vegemite toast after 9pm - I was left feeling that God had somehow short-changed me in the desirablity stakes.

Now if I were maybe some sort of Amazonian big-breasted golden blonde honeypot I could possibly understand my success with the XY set. But nay, I am a medium-height, medium-weight, dark blonde, B-cupper with questionable cleanliness standards, an attitude problem and a complete dearth of culinary skills to boot.

I mean, seriously. I can’t cook, I spend an inordinate amount of time daydreaming, I tend to forget at least 80% of anything my partner ever actually says to me, and also forget about the same percentage of things I say in the reciprocal, I am the crappiest excuse for a housewife ever, I am frequently crass and thoughtless, I could do with some fine-tuning at the gym, I’m embarrassing in public when I’m drunk – and oftentimes when sober, I tend to find my partners’ friends stultifyingly boring, I’m much less intelligent than I aspire to be, I always have my head in a book or my headphones in my ears, I never wear the lacy lingerie my partner bought me and I make next to no effort to vamp it up in the fashion stakes.

I do however, have a fucking kick-ass record collection and a bookshelf full of feminist literature to die for. Plus I have this certain way of raising one of my eyebrows in mock ridicule that can look really cute sometimes if I really try. That’s it. Well that, and my wise-ass mouth. And boy, do I make that poor sucker work it’s wise-ass off for me. Though I suspect I’d better stop all of this self-indulgent self-flagellation now before they cart my wise-ass off to some soppy vagina-loving self-esteem support group for Women Who Suck Too Much.

Geez, well I won’t be posting much of that on any internet dating sites in the near future…. I’ve only had four beers tonight. Truly.