Lies

Every time I log into my email I am offered a selection of feckin diabolical articles courtesy of the email provider’s homepage. A recent offering that had me swearing into my herbal tea was “ten most horrible beach bodies.” Seriously? Do people actually write things like this for a living?  (Um… actually, I will break off there.  This blog is hardly Proust.) The thing that upsets me most is that my email providers have obviously decided that I am a complete bell-end who is interested only in this kind of stupid guff. Why don’t they offer me articles on international development or human rights or postmodern literature?? Dammit.

Anyway, I was talking to a chap earlier today about how the internet hath made us mad (women, that is) and was thus a little more interested in today’s choice of  suggested article: “Ten lies that women tell men.” Now there is an area in which I have some fairly extensive experience, I thought.

I had a look. The article was very dull. All the usual things were in there – “I’ve got a headache” and “It was really cheap” (which, apparently, is what girls tell their boyfriends about their clothes: they pretend that they get everything from Primark whereas in fact they love nothing more than to shop in Harvey Nicks. Marie Claire will probably sack me for this but I have never shopped in Harvey Nicks and nor am I ever likely to. I really do shop in Primark.)

So I decided to dredge up a few of my own home-grown porkies for your viewing pleasure. I have written five today; a further five will be available in a few days.

1. I am really sane and normal.

Why do girls tell men this? It is patently untrue. Men know this. They know we google them and spend hours trying to work out if the girl in their 367th facebook photo once gave them a blowie. The mere fact that we find it necessary to declare our sanity is a sure sign of its absence.

2. You are amazing at (….) Please fill in a sexual act of your choice.

Have I said this to, oh, pretty much any man who’s ever gone beyond second base? Yes. Even if said sexual activity was way below standard? Yes. Even if I fell asleep during it? Yes. Even if it was so bad that I had to sneak off and read a naughty book for afters? Yes. Even if it made me wonder seriously if it was worth becoming a lesbian because surely, SURELY, no woman would ever do it this badly? Yes. Why do we do this?

3. I have had hundreds of boyfriends.

I haven’t. I’ve had a small handful. But men have a terrible fear of getting involved with a girl who hasn’t been out with every pointless rotter who comes her way. WHY HAS SHE ONLY HAD TWO BOYFRIENDS? DOES SHE HAVE STIs? IS SHE RUBBISH AT ORAL? IS SHE MAD? They want you to have had sex with LOADS of men (and yet they often get cross if you actually have.) I once told an ex that I was being stalked (this at least was true) and he actually said “Ah, excellent. That’s good to know.”  What the blazes…?!

4. I’m really into music. Like, alternative stuff.

Rubbish! Nonsense! Balls! I do love music, and I do love alternative music, but only when men introduce me to it. I can’t be arsed finding it on my own. I’m sorry. To all men I’ve been out with: IT WAS A MASSIVE PORKIE. How could you not tell? Left to my own devices, I will fill my itunes with all of the things that men fear the most: classical music; the entire back catalogue of Dire Straits, Take That and Stevie Wonder. You’ll find Bonnie Tyler and REO speedwagon in there too. And I’m afraid you’ll even find Phil Collins Superhits LIVE! I once went out with a guy who was a music journo. I was so terrified of his coolness that I spent pretty much a whole day downloading COOL music from COOL websites. I then spent another day learning all of the songs I’d downloaded. I would hum, casually, tunes from obscure songs and breezily quote obscure bands which had him foaming at the mouth with excitement. (This was one of the scenes that ended up on the cutting room floor when C4 made their documentary about me. When I popped into the edit to see how things were going the editor looked at me in absolute horror and said “you didn’t really do that, did you?” When I nodded my head guiltily he looked like he was having a coronary.) The silly thing about this particular lie is that men love showing off their music knowledge to girls by taking them to weird gigs in smelly pubs.  They swig pints of beer manfully and watch the shock and confusion crossing their new girlfriend’s face. It makes them feel great. Me big man who knows music. You small woman who only knows power ballads. Etc.

5. Aren’t girls who are fussy eaters AWFUL?

This is one of the worst offenders. I’m one of those losers who would eat meat after 20 years of being a vegetarian if it helped make me look normal on a first date. I’ve eaten all sorts of scary innards, I’ve eaten mountains of popcorn even though it makes me pass wind and time after time I’ve eaten builder-sized portions of greasy  food which I wash down with a pint of beer, all in the hope of persuading them that I am good girlfriend material. Men like a girl who they can go and get a dirty Macdonalds with on a hangover day. They don’t want a girlfriend who nibbles on quinoa snacks and rocket salads while they wolf down sausages the size of marrows and slices of bread thicker than a dictionary. (Although obviously you are expected to stay slim in spite of your willingness to eat large amounts of junk food.) The sad thing about this is that actually I am quite a fussy eater. Not through choice; through medical necessity. It makes me a bit cross that I find myself eating things that make me ill just to impress men. It makes me wonder why the flaming jesus I can’t just be myself.

5.5 I love Guinness

I detest it. Even though I am half Irish. I once downed a pint of Guinness to impress a bloke and then had to run off and honk up in the toilet. I sat on the floor of this minging pub toilet afterwards, elbows resting on the bowl, and accepted that I was truly insane.

PS. About the date with the Younger Man. I’m afraid I cancelled. He kept misspelling things. I know some of you get cross when I say this but in a blog about telling lies I thought best that I told the truth. I cannot date men who cannot spell. I’m sorry.

 

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