They say men are most interested in a womans looks. Apparently, the ideal English lass ought to be tall, all legs, golden-haired, forever beaming and brimming with joy. But is that honestly the case? Sure, a captivating appearance may be the initial head-turner, but lets not kid ourselvesits hardly the be-all and end-all.
I once had a mate named Edward. We worked together for a rather uninspired firm in Manchester. One day, a new starter joined our office, and she looked every bit the English Rosethink legs for days, dazzling pearly whites, and a figure so graceful it put the Tower of London to shame. Unsurprisingly, Edward was instantly smitten.
As time went on, it was rather obvious she fancied him too. One morning, she waltzed in lugging an enormous handbag, the kind you suspect might secretly contain a spare set of kettles. Naturally, Edward gallantly offered to help her carry it home. She agreed, beaming, and Edward, full of hope, thought perhaps Lady Luck was finally smiling his way. Fast forward an hour and, after work, my phone rangEdward was utterly panicked.
Turns out, stepping into her flat was like walking into the aftermath of a week-long full English breakfast, gone terribly wrong. It reeked as if a family of badgers had shuffled off this mortal coil under the sofa. Bins clearly hadnt been emptied since Tony Blair held office. Mouldy toast, rogue teabags, and unidentifiable food blobs were scattered all abouteven the bed had a faint whiff of last Sundays takeaway. To add insult to injury, some exceedingly ambitious maggots were holding a summit on the kitchen table.
Edward almost lost his lunch there and then. As for the lady in question? She seemed entirely unfazed, as if a little wildlife in the kitchenette was quite the norm. Later, he confessed that he was thoroughly cured of his infatuation. As he wryly observed, the most important thing about a woman isnt her beautyits knowing when to take out the rubbish and keep a decent home.
