All the queen's men

I have decided that when I grow old (it’s about to happen soon, i can feel it in my bones) i will write a book. It won’t be just any book... No siree... it will be... a masterpiece.

And it will be about Men...

Not just men in general or any one in particular. Just the lucky few who get to court me. Yes, it will be an all too detailed account of boyfriends. Of which i plan to very soon be acquiring many.
This hastily planned ambition leaves me in strange predicament. A challenge for the congenitally diffident person that is me. My track record thus far has been fairly lack lustre in the love department. Not that the few (i have chosen to be suitably vague with numbers to avoid public embarrassment, lets just say you could count them on your fingers... the fingers of one hand... ok fine two fingers) who ambled along were not nice... oh no in fact they were lovely. Its just that i feel i should have covered more ground by now. Played the field just a smidge more.

Moving swiftly along, the snail’s pace at which i have gone about boy-friending men has made the road ahead slightly rough. Time is of the essence. I have decided to rule out the younger men folk. This is in the best interest of one and all. I hardly relish the prospect of knocking on their doors years later asking for their permission to publish an “only mildly exaggerated” version of our courtship. They would all have to be older so as to kick the bucket in a timely fashion allowing me to release the book without the ever present threat of defamation charges. That way i can bask in the glory of my superlative literary achievement in the winter of my life. And most importantly decide who gets to play me in the motion picture version (coming eventually to a theatre near you).

Yes older men it is. Younger man with a good sense of humour is also permissible.

So to reiterate. I will write a book. It will be deeply insightful (aren’t i always?) and really really funny.

There have to be a minimum of at least 10 men, else its no fun at all. And though the likelihood of falling for the same kind of man is high, it would be preferable for them to be very very different. We all secretly wish for our lives to be richly peopled. I confess i’m no less immune to this sort of day dreaming than anyone else.

Unfortunately, having to make room for >=10 men in your life (on a sequential basis, multitasking was never quite my thing) necessitates punctuation of the script with at least 9 break ups. But in this too there must be variety. Some tearful and tragic, some dramatic and confrontational. Some mature and amicable and others... well not quite.

Yes... detailed, eventful and funny to a fault. Not to mention frequent wardrobe changes.

I am still undecided as to how the saga will pan out. Whatever will happen to our protagonist? I’m too much of a girl to avoid ending it all with the one closest to perfect man coming and sweeping her off her feet. Predictable, yes i agree... but its a good bet the audience will lap it up. I know i would.

Will he be pretty? Will he be rich? Que sera sera...

*

I remember a very long time ago, being very certain about the 3 qualifying criteria for being this man.

1. Should help me cross the road (and i don’t mean figuratively, i’m genuinely very bad at crossing roads)

2. Should laugh at all my jokes (non-negotiable)

3. Should display qualities (bare minimum of one) that causes a rumbling in the tummy. Mere display of interest or even mild affection (virtually impossible to not reciprocate) must under no circumstances be permitted to substitute this. This last one is the killer. Loosely translated that means “the guy must be hot in one or the other way. Under no circumstances must you like him simply because he likes you”.

Somewhere in between a few questionable additions were made only to be replaced by other no less absurd ones: must be Russian, must wear spectacles, must be Rahul Dravid (it was true love i tell you) ... must be scruffy and or well dressed... must be a good dancer... must be a wallflower. (When i am particularly angry the demands veer towards the materialistic... must own car, must know everything about income tax saving investments etc.)

Barring the frequent deviations, the 3 points more or less cover the basics. Frills (ownership of vehicle(s), deep knowledge of income tax saving investments) are welcome but not mandatory. In love these sacrifices can be made i suppose.

So that’s that. The broad outline of my love life and a brief character sketch of its prospective cast. A highly plausible (though not necessarily probable) story set against the backdrop of 3 seemingly innocuous conditions.

And an entire lifetime (minus some 24 years) to write it.