You can’t plan the perfect life. You can’t write up a to-do list with accompanying KPIs and expect to live a normal fulfilling life. Or maybe I just see life differently. I can’t pretend to care for the sake of getting the chance to tick off items on my to-do list. 

I had a list of achievables before a certain age. Even what I expected in the right woman. Women tend to have that. And they’re almost religious about sticking to the list of competencies that any potential suitor has to match before they even get a consideration. Of course that’s the sort of shallow shit that makes MTV’s My sweet 16 look like something deeply profound.

That’s not to say having the said list is a bad thing, it’s just what occupies those bullet points is somewhat an indication of the creators inadequacies and insecurities. 

OK I’m sounding a tad judgmental but I am curious. How do you stick to the list? I had the list once. Like a proper immature, pre-sex list. The pre-sex list is the kind of list which has sex as an item to be done and it will be good. Post sex lists are the kind lists that are created when the creamy white veneer of fantasy is peeled back. When a dose of reality hits you in the face and we tend to prioritise things. Like the fact that the physical appearance is only half of what makes great sex. Or that sometimes all you need is someone you can look your worst in front of and they still love you the same. Some people employ the fart test. Basically when you feel you can fart in front of your beloved, it is an indication that you are comfortable enough in your relationship and not scared of them running away. Any running will only be for self preservation reasons.

Pre-sex lists are mostly fairy tales. It’s complete fantasy. OK maybe not, but it misses the vital element – realism. Everytime I hear of the list I am tempted to say: “get laid already” someone needs to pop the fantasy bubble. Because for the Pre-listers everyone is an option with a rating based on how they meet those list ideals. I’m lucky in that I wasn’t an option. It just happened. Like the old days. Like in the movies. Not by Stats 101. You can’t find peace by a measure of probabilities. You can’t find happiness by virtue of ticking a set of unemotional prerequisites.

But fate, isn't she brilliant?