It doesn't exist a perfect women; and I am more sad to say that there isn't a perfect man either. Would be nice to have someone to give me a kiss on my forehead when I go to sleep, to cover my back with the blancket so I don't get a cold, who gets me flowers without any special reason, and to hug me and tell me "I love you very much much" when I m starting almost a war. That would make me calm down instantly.
The ideal man can be any height, but not a package of muscles without too much brain, perfectly to be stored in a window shop.
The perfect man caresses me, keeps my hand tight in public, picks me up when my car is broken and brings pain pills when I have my monthly problem. He knows how to make himself liked between my friends and he reads from time to time. He knows how to make a delicous omlette with whatever he find in the fridge, while I try his clothes from the closet without distracting him from his chore.
This perfect man, actually nonexistent, smiles when I get angry and when I am in mood for a fight. He jokes and doesn't loose his temper. When I call him he is happy to hear my voice and tells me to hurry home because he cooked for me. Also he is my plumber, he throws away the garbage, takes me with him to see football games, doesn't forget to send you goodnight messages and watches with me romantic movies.
He can cry but not complain all the time like a women. He takes care of his nails but he doesn't paint them with a transparent nail polish. Mister Perfect doesn't look after other girls on the street, doesn't send naughty messages to his female colleagues and doesn't try to pick up other girls on social networks. He has a steady job, knows what he wants from his life, doesn't drink until he can not get up but he knows how to drive like a Ferrari pilot.
The perfect man takes responsabilities. He makes surprises. Keeps my hand while driving. Tells me I am the most beautiful and makes me feel like that. Asks me to marry when I least expect it and he never calls his ex girlfriend to tell her that he missed her.
Also he tells me that he likes the way I dress, argues with me if I didn't eat enough, and always takes me by surprise and doesn't become a couch potato, he can make more than 10 pushups and on my birthday he puts in the birthday card 2 flight tickets Ibiza.
The perfect man simply loves me and doesn't try to understand me.
And now.... Wake up!!! That perfect man never existed and I think it's not in the 'To do list' of God. But still... Hope dies last.
