I want to get married. One day – when the right guy comes along. It’s not a religious thing or anything like that; I just really like the idea of getting married (and y’know, having a wedding and all). That being said, I’m not just gonna settle for any old guy and I’m sure that I’m not the only one whose got a list of requirements for their future husband (though I may be the only one daft enough to air them online while I’m still single as all hell). Meghan Trainor released ‘Dear Future Husband’ earlier this year and plenty of feminists (like me) sure do think she got it wrong – I definitely feel like her list should have been a little more realistic…a little more like mine.
Of course I would like all the normal things that anyone would expect of a relationship; respect, love and shared dreams (blah blah blah) – but no one wants to hear about that. You want to hear my obscure diva demands and boy have I got some for you, so without any further hesitation I must present to you the list of 12 requirements (because 12 is my second favourite number, a fact that you WILL know if you wanna put a ring on it) of anyone hoping to wife me;

• Must choose dogs over cats
  Dogs are superior to cats – it’s a scientific fact. Furthermore, I cannot take a cat man seriously – no disrespect, but these kinds’ guys certainly do not make me feel safe and secure. Much like cats, I feel like a guy who like cats will in fact try to suffocate me in my sleep – and not because he’s strangely abusive but because he has a superiority complex. You know it makes sense.
• Must be okay with hair
  Please realise that I am not a dolphin. Yes, there are times where my skin will be silky smooth however there will be other times when you will be concerned that I’m turning into a Chia Pet – you know, those things from the 90s that grow sprouts out of them? I will try to regularly keep it all under control but let’s just put it this way, if he’s not willing to be silky smooth as a cyclist (side note; I probs won’t go for a cyclist) then you can’t give me grief for the occasional slip in standards. Basically, if you’re willing to wax your crack on the reg then I’ll consider putting in more effort.

• Must drink (and enjoy) wine
  You’re not a real man if you don’t like wine – well not in my books anyways. I’ve written about it before – but basically, you must enjoy wine. I don’t need you to know everything there is to know about it (but if you do, please note that I don’t really care – and neither does anyone else). Wine is good – take note fellas.

• Must have a star sign that is compatible with mine
  My star sign is Cancer. This means fuck all – except of course when it comes to figuring out with whom I could in fact be compatible. Let’s be honest though, I’ll twist it in my favour if he’s worth it.

• Must be accepting…
  Of the fact that I’ve already decided on a name for our first born – and our second and third for that matter. Call me crazy (go on, see what happens) but I’ve got some damned good names picked out, so if ya wanna lock this down, just accept the fact that we will not be naming our child after your great-aunt Edna.

• Must be okay with Nacho Cheese feet
  Sometimes (not often, I promise) my feet smell. There was one particular occasion that they smelled like nacho cheese Doritos. I have no explanation for this but it is a thing that happened and who’s to say that it won’t happen again? Be prepared.

• Must be able to deal with my chronic fatigue paranoia
  I don’t stress much and surprisingly I’m not an overly anxious person but every now and then I convince myself (with no solid evidence) that I’m suffering chronic fatigue. On multiple occasions I have ended up in tears, having a tantrum because I think I have chronic fatigue. I’m fine within a few hours though; just ride out the storm with me, okay?

• Must understand that carbs are great (and sometimes they are not)
  Don’t make me eat healthy if I don’t want to but don’t make me eat shit food when I’m trying so god damned hard to ‘be good’ – and I swear to god, if you think that you’re gonna have any opinion on what goes into my mouth then you may as well just give up now. This includes edible and non-edible objects, pay attention.

• Must be able to drive a manual
  It may be a strange measure of man hood but in my mind, real men have the ability to drive a manual. If you can’t drive a car at all, keep on peddling by sweetheart because as hot as your fit bod will probably be, I ain’t gonna dinky on the back of your fixie all the way to your parents house. Oh what was that? We could catch the bus? Been with that guy, done that, those days are in my past buddy.

• Must not have nicer hair than me
  If your hair is nicer than mine, I will inevitably be intimidated. The inequality that this will cause in our relationship will be too much for either of us will handle and will inevitably end in tears.

• Must not be too muscular
  Most girls have a type, my type is basically anyone who doesn’t make me feel inadequate (see above…) therefore, if you’re biceps are bigger than my head then it’s probably not gonna work. Don’t get sneaky on me either; I might have to put a clause in our pre-nup.

• Must get along with my Dad
  My dad is the raddest bloke in the world, closely followed by my brother. They certainly have their flaws – anyone who’s seen my Dad on the dance floor can attest to that however anyone who wants to put a ring on it will need to get along with the main men in my life. The easy thing is that Dad pretty much gets along with everyone but lucky for me he won’t be backwards in telling me if he doesn’t like a guy – believe me, it’s happened before. Oh and some people might think I’m a little bit backwards but I would want a guy to ask my Dad if he was cool with it before asking ME to marry him. I don’t think my Dad needs to give permission as such, but I’d definitely want my Dad to be down with it.

So there you have it – some might call me nuts but I just like to think I’m organised and under control. Trust me ladies, if you don’t think like me you’ll be regretting it down the track when 15 years into the marriage you’re stuck with a cat loving, wine hating body builder with luscious locks flowing in the breeze