bit of data all women tried to acquire since the beggining of time

Nothing personal. Nothing at all... :P

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I acquired myself a man.

First time in my life. All my friends already have had them, but I somehow managed to escape. Well, obviously I knew men before, but they always existed outside my flat, and appeared in it only periodically.
But once…
In the morning I came to the toilet and discovered that the toilet seat was up. Thus a new era in my life began. A man settled in my house. I thought he wouldn’t last long: they are capricious… First thing he declared that since we were living together it was inhumane to use condoms. However he didn’t clarify who it was inhumane to. I had three ideas. My beloved seemed to be bothered by only one. It didn’t suit me. I accused him of being egoistic and unconcerned. He advised me to buy myself a dildo. I reminded we lived in an age of HIV. He said he was not like this. I made it clear that I though he was crazy. He packed his ties. I grinned. He slammed the door. I dyed my hair. He opened the door with his own key. ‘Just got in time before the pharmacy closed. Here,’ he was holding a shiny pack of condoms. ‘Was your hair red before?’ Thus we started living together.
I stopped freaking out when I came back home and saw lights in my windows. I didn’t tell people that they’ve got the wrong number when they asked for him. My pillow smelled of his perfume. My beloved snored at night, pulled the blanket towards himself – the blanket ended up on the floor. He read crap books in the toilet, and then shouted to me to bring him toilet paper. I advised to use pages from whatever book he was reading at that time. When we went to see my friends he quoted Kant. And every day he stepped on the cat’s tail, and every day he assured that it was an accident. He taught me how to navigate by stars, scared away my girl friends. He gave me a rubber boat as a present, and he was scared of my mum. At night he woke me up with kisses, and he sniffed when he washed his face. He splashed the bathroom mirror with toothpaste, and bought me strawberries in winter. In short, he was irresistible. There appeared a sound system and dumbbells in my house. The music was on morning till night. The dumbbells were inactive. When I was cleaning the carpet I always had to move them around. My guests were stumbling upon them. My neighbour Kate told me that these pieces of iron ruin the aesthetic beauty of my living room. When I had enough of it I proposed to put them away in the closet. My beloved was fuming with righteous rage. He reminded me that a healthy spirit can develop only in a healthy body. And that he actually saw a suitable weight in a sports shop.
‘Have to work on my biceps.’ He informed me confidently.
On the other hand, I always had shaving foam in my house. And I could participate in my girl friends’ talks about what our beloved ones did yesterday:
a) played computer games till morning,
b) spent whole day under his car,
c) ate week’s supply of sausages,
d) broke a cup and changed a burned bulb,
e) said that TV kills brain cells,
f) spent his evening watching boxing,
g) hid my telephone book,
h) … is a bastard and parasite

In short, while living with a man I made quite a few discoveries. Some are nice and some are not.

First discovery: he exists.

Second discovery: he was always hungry! He wasn’t satisfied with a cup of coffee and a mandarin for breakfast. There appeared new unknown to me products: butter, fat, sugar, vodka, pasta. The rating of mayonnaise consumption was unbelievable. I started to notice recipes in women’s magazines. I was tormented by the question of what to cook for dinner. I wend mad. I consistently roasted, boiled, grated and tasted something. I gained three kilos. My beloved was fit, happy and always ready to eat. When he said ‘Do we have anything tasty?’ and shoved his head into the fridge five minutes after the dinner, I wanted to kick him from behind and close the fridge. I was dreaming that shops invented products that said ‘Male food. 10 kg’. You buy one of those and you don’t have to worry for the rest of the day…

Third discovery: he was hiding his socks. I hope he wasn’t hiding them from me, because I definitely knew he was wearing them. I never saw him walking barefoot. No, I was sure he used the textile benefits of civilization, but… as soon as he came from work he started to look for secluded places and there, as chipmunk hides his food, he buried his socks rolling them up in the shape of compact curlies. And no way on earth could I persuade him to leave those?... snails?... at least in the bathroom. With the maniac determination my man was parking his socks under the sofa, under the armchair, under the bed, and it seemed like he was ready to rip off plinths, just in order to bury his treasures there.

Fourth discovery: he made a last will every time he had a tooth ache or a blocked nose. He moaned and signed as a wounded bison. He choked every time he heard the word ‘hospital’ and appealed to my mercy. He demanded to finish him off in order to release him from inhuman sufferings. He was holding my hand and advised to paint his old Opel before selling it. As a real man, lying on his death bed he suppressed his cries and bid farewell to what was most dear to his heart: music discs, mobile phone and sports magazine.

Fifth discovery: he knew how to be silent. He could spend all day sitting in front of the TV and saying nothing. He, who knew two languages and had a degree, could communicate with me with three phrases: ‘Good morning, darling’, ‘What are we having for diner, love?’ and ‘Come to me…’ But in all fairness, his communication with his mum or phone conversations with his friends weren’t much more expressive either. His relationship with his best friend was based on joint watching of football matches and pronouncing capacious comments:
‘Pass! I said, pass!.. What a moron!.. More beer?..’

Sixth discovery: being silent, he hated silence. I could never solve this paradox. Not only did he touch his sound system more often than me, he barely got away from TV, and he switched the channels with the speed of light. The only things he watched till the end were the news and sport programmes. The rest of the time he constantly clicked the control. The images flicked as in a sinister kaleidoscope. I felt dizzy. And the worst thing to do was to stand between him and the TV. As soon as I happened to be there he made a diplomatic demarche: ‘Disappear from the screen!’

Seventh discovery: he jealously protected his territory. His domain consisted of: his place at a dinner table and his favourite armchair. Even our guests were not allowed to sit on his stool in the kitchen. Poor cat rushed away from the cosy armchair as soon as it heard the familiar heavy footsteps. I never crossed his borders. My female intuition told me that it was better not to encroach upon his male throne, his sacred mug and his majestic slippers. On the other hand, it is absolutely safe to hide the hateful dumbbells. Or even better, give it away for recycling – my precious weightlifter is unlikely to notice the loss.

Eight discovery: supervision and surveillance.
‘Who were you talking on the phone with?.. Who is this guy on the picture?.. Where have you been between four and five in the evening?.. Where did you get those earrings from?..’
‘With my girlfriend. My brother. At the hairdresser’s. You gave them to me…’

Ninth discovery: no more could I spend hours in my fragrant bath. All ninety kilos of my beloved bunny constantly attempted to force their way in. He was in desperate need of a toothbrush. Or he had an urgent desire to repair the bath tube which was leaking for two months. Or he was interested whether he could fit in the bath with me, and how much water our bodies would expel according to Archimedes’ law. Or he was simply lonely and he whined at the closed door calling out for my conscience:
‘I suffer from the lack of communication!’
But as soon as I exited the bathroom, my sufferer returned to his armchair satisfied.
‘What about Archimedes’ law?’ asked I.
‘I’ll have a shower later’ informed me my beloved and turned his face back to the newspaper.

Tenth discovery: he had a bristle. Well, obviously he had it even before our cohabitation. But he used to shave before our dates, and now I observed him nearly twenty-four-hour a day… The skin on my face started to flake.

Eleventh discovery: he couldn’t remember our important dates!!! At all. Amnesia. Selective memory loss. He remembered the Bastille day, the day he had a car check up, the day he went into the army, but the date of my birthday could never fix itself in either of his cerebral hemispheres. He could miss even Christmas Day, if it wasn’t for all the buying craze.
‘They started to sell the fir trees. It’s time to stock on alcohol.’ He made his thoughtful conclusions.

Twelfth discovery: he was absolutely unpractical. He could not plan our budget. When he went out to buy meal he got back with five bottles of beer, a pack of crisps and an ice cream. He was too shy to ask for change. He couldn’t bargain. He bought everything the shrewd sellers offered him. And once he went to buy potatoes and came back with roses. I signed.
‘I love you’ He said, holding out the flowers.

Twelfth and a half discovery: he loves me…
In short, living with a man is like a game of chess. Continuous match with incomprehensible rules.
‘A night doesn’t move like that’
‘Silly you… How then, do you think, a night moves?
‘Like that…’
‘Let our neighbour move it like that, I will move it like this…’
‘When exactly did we develop these new rules?’‘Last minute… I said so. It’s your turn, darling…’

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As always translated from some sources too ambigous to mention....