The Perfect Woman

She had all the wine gums any one man could desire, and the casual attitude to nudity and deep curiosity about some of the more advanced sexual deviations that almost made it worth waking up for in the mornings, even in February. She could drink like a fish and swim like an inebriated dolphin, which although not much use was fun to watch, especially with her casual attitude towards nudity.

She was – of course – almost the perfect woman, with total disinterest in the offside rule and a disdain for shopping, especially for shoes and handbags, that made her the object of every man’s desire.

Of course, in the end she went away, far away, to explore that side of her sexuality that kept all the men she once knew suddenly waking, hot, sweaty and occasionally a bit sticky, in the deep heart of the night.

Last I heard she was working as a late-night hot dog seller on the romantic mean streets of Doncaster, where every hot dog she sells is handed over with a suggestion of what tricks she could – if she so desired – do with each drunken man’s own hot dog. Up to and including the fried onions and mustard, were she not so devoted to her trade.

One day, soon, when I am feeling not quite so sticky, I will go in search of her again, taking with me a whole packet of wine gums. All to see if I can win her back with romance, wine gums and the promise of a life the like of which she has never known, up to and including some sexual practices that are still illegal in several American states… and Grimsby.

Then I will bring her back home, here, with me. Mainly because in the years since she has been gone quite a pile of dirty crockery has built up to the point where even entering the kitchen has become something of an extreme sport. Consequently, I need someone, someone like her, to do some washing up; otherwise, I’ll never again have a clean mug for my essential early morning cup of tea.