WHAT I’M LOOKING FOR IN ANOTHER MAN

All right, ladies, back off! You’re not the only ones looking for a good man in your life. I may be a man myself, but that doesn’t mean I am all I need. I want a companion—more than that, I need a helpmate, a bro, someone of the “rougher sex” to applaud me and be by my side as I navigate the vagaries of this life. I’m prepared to describe this hunk to save myself from having to suffer through a bunch of interview/back-rub sessions, so back off and butt out. Speaking of butts—

First of all, I’m not looking for a “hot bod” or a cute butt. Frankly, I wouldn’t know a cute butt if it bit me in the ass. My dream dude must have a sense of style so he can help me pick out clothes that fit together instead of me just grabbing the first thing on the top of the pile. I’m forty-eight years old and my clothes are still kept in a “pile,” so I need this guy, pronto. He will probably be gay, because none of my straight friends are any good in this department. So gay is fine—but again, no cute butt necessary. A cute butt would just be wasted on me.

He should have wonderful, piercing, clear eyes. By that, I mean his eyes must be clear for him to see out of, and his clarity of vision should pierce through smog and low-lying fog. My eyes aren’t doing so well: things are getting watery and I’ve always been color-blind. My guy mustn’t be color-blind! I need him to tell me what’s in front of me, especially when we’re out racing in his car.

He should have a car, and oh! What a car! A stylish mini-convertible like the kind James Bond would drive. We could take it for spins in wine country—even with the low-lying fog (see above), and I could drive superfast around those hairpin turns because he would be using his piercing eyes to see oncoming danger, and we’d never, no, never, get lost (see below).

Mr. Hotstuff must have a good sense of direction so he can orient me to where my GPS is trying to tell me to go, because sometimes GPS stands for “Getting Places Circuitously,” if you know what I mean. This magic dude could even reroute me entirely if he felt like it. By “reroute” I’m not trying to be metaphorical—again, I’m not gay, and I’m not planning to “turn” gay.

You know what? Now I’m thinking my “perfect fella” should probably be homosexual. The position shouldn’t even be open to anyone else. I need diversity. I need to open things up. Heck, I’d like him to be one of those guys who knows what women are thinking. He can help me interpret cryptic signals from my wife, like when she tells me she’s “had it” with me. What does that mean? Is it a come-on? If so, it’s not very sexy.

He doesn’t need to be a hunk, but he should have upper-body strength like a mule, because guess what? We’re going to be moving some furniture! More specifically—can my hottie’s forearms be sinewy and scrawny like a pterodactyl’s? So he can reach through gratings for dropped keys, and under cracked windows to turn levers to lift the window so I can crawl through and unlock the front door when I lock myself out? Better yet, just make him a certified locksmith!

Let him be well-read, so he can tell me what happens in The Great Gatsby—that thing always tires me out before the end. Also, may he have a rhyming dictionary in his head for when we’re in the car making up lyrics and laughing. He doesn’t have to be good at Scrabble, though…it’s okay if he puts up a fight, but I want to be winning, mostly.

I don’t know if the guy I’m dreaming of is out there. Then again, maybe there are quite a few gentlemen who would work for me—I’m just starting this process. If I meet more than one outstanding man, then it’ll come down to a personality match—or maybe I’ll just be forced to pick the guy with the cuter butt.