Some girls aspire to appear on the cover of Vogue. Some girls will burn their best friends for a shot on Forbes top 100 list. Some girls believe that tupperware is enough to warrant a fetish. Some strokes suit some folks.

All women are different. But dare i commit that all women (and men quite frankly, even though most of the time it IS hard to believe) ALL women desire to fall in love, even if they won't admit it. Being in love of course is very different from lov-ing.

Puppy love is really where it starts. Where that intense rush called "catch me I'm falling" (thank you boyz 2 men) really sinks its teeth. And before you know it. You're addicted. It's really not your fault. Can anything feel better? What else should compel a girl to rip off her clothes and allow her peeing device to interact with someone else's peeing device? Okay. Never mind. Dont answer that, especially after tupperware fetish.

Anyways. The academics claim that we, like all other creatures on this earth, strive toward an ultimate fulfilment only to be found in procreation. Survival of the fittest has rendered the laws of attraction to go beyond the mere scope of physicality, despite the true nature of the reproduction act. So why not fall in love with the new microwavable "glad-tainer" happily prolonging the macaroni and cheese casserole in your fridge for tomorrow's lunch and not about to displace itself. You don't eat, you don't live. One has to admit, "Glad-tainer''s qualities are beckoning.

Qualities! We fall in love with qualities. That nose, those eyes, that exquisite taste in cars and sometimes even just that plain good heart. Not all of us have checklists at the forefront of our consciousness. Yet we constanty seem to be running through personal preferences.

So what makes you tick?


Some grave reflection has enlightened me on the exemplary qualities that make up my Starbucks concoction of a dreamlover:

Firstly, since physical appearance is the first point of contention. You would walk down the street and not notice him, the preference lately seems to sway towards short, fat and physically as unhealthy as possible.

Secondly, he is a man in a position of power, ever so ready to teach me a thing or three, thus furthering my stubborn insecurities pertaining to the bottomless goal of perfection.

Thirdly it is his dark cancerian nature, which almost instantaneously homes me in and gnaws at my desire to soothe all his sapping insecurities. Your rock of gibraltar? Please. Allow me.

And fourth and finest, his exceptionally stunted attention span. Where all the right was bestowed on him to squander his loving affections on me one day, and Mr Scrooge them for the rest of the 364 days. Christmas does only come once a year.


So as you probably have already thoughtfully concluded. I fall in love with men who usually fail to fall back in love with me. Which is really quite awesome, because it just means that tomorrow I get to wake up and dream about love all over again. Dear covergirl, you tell me whose smiling now?