Haley Hill - It's Got To Be Perfect

Matthew laughed. ‘Maybe he was planning to win you over with his personality?’

‘Indeed. Now, was it the tales of childhood animal torture? Or perhaps the moment he almost stabbed the waitress with his fork? I just can’t decide which indicator of mental instability it was that won me over.’ I wriggled out of my coat and then threw it on the floor. ‘No more internet dates. I’m done.’

He topped up my glass. I took another glug and then stared helplessly up at the ceiling.

‘Where have all the good men gone?’ I sighed.

He slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘Ellie, please, no. Not Bonnie Tyler.’

I laughed. ‘I don’t need a hero, just a decent guy.’

‘And what, pray tell, is a decent guy?’

‘One who doesn’t have nasal hair, a porn addiction or a personality disorder.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘No nasal hair? That would be a tricky one.’

‘You know what I mean, tufts sprouting out of nostrils. Or one nostril even, that was weird.’

He laughed.

I turned to him. ‘What? What’s so funny?’

‘Do you realise that every time you come back from a date, you’ve added something else to your tick list?’

He picked up a pen and notebook from the coffee table in front of him. ‘Symmetrical nasal hair,’ he said, pretending to write.

I heard a strange groan. A quick glance at the TV implied that either it came from me or a horny hippopotamus.

‘But I have to discriminate somehow. I mean, look at my choices so far. It couldn’t really get any worse, could it?’

‘The male attracts the female by using his tail to spray her with faeces,’ David Attenborough announced proudly.

Matthew raised his eyebrows at the disturbing image on the screen. ‘See, it could always get worse,’ he said, and flipped his legs up onto the sofa. ‘So, where were we? Yes, your tick list. When we met, you must have been, what, fifteen?’

I nodded and took another gulp of wine.

‘Well, back then, you said that the only thing you looked for in a boyfriend was a cute smile.’

I laughed.

‘Then,’ he continued, adopting a bizarre cover-girl-like pose, ‘after a month or so, your requirements had progressed to a boy with a cute smile and a car.’

I could see where he was going with this.

‘And now, let me think, what are your requirements now?’ He moved his hand over his mouth in a dramatic shock gesture. Before I had a chance to respond, he continued. ‘He has to be aged between thirty and thirty-five (preferably thirty-three), over six feet tall, good-looking, successful, independently wealthy, fit and sporty, confident (not arrogant), intelligent, interesting, well educated and have a great sense of humour.’

‘Well—’

He put his hand up in a flamboyant stop sign. ‘I haven’t finished yet. In addition to that, he has to be sensitive yet masculine, affectionate and attentive, but not clingy. He must think you’re the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, cherish you for eternity and have manly hands.’

I tried to speak, but Matthew rattled on.

‘And now, since your recent bout of internet dating, you’re discounting men for the most trivial of things.’

‘Like what?’

‘Tapered jeans.’

‘Trivial?’

‘Deck shoes.’

I screwed up my face.

‘Triangular shoulders.’

‘Bad.’

‘Skinny calves.’

‘Yuk.’

‘Lumberjack shirt.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Flat bottom.’

‘Eew.’

‘Furry neck.’

‘Nasty.’

‘Whiny voice.’

‘Worse.’

‘Pointy fingernails. Head like a grape. Hyena laugh. Upside-down eyebrows. And what about the guy with the goatee?’

‘He looked like a gnome.’

‘He could have shaved it off.’

‘That’s not the point. He chose to grow it in the first place. I couldn’t trust a man with such bad judgement.’

He sighed and lifted his arms above his head.

‘Don’t you think I deserve to meet a great guy?’

‘Well,’ he said, planting his feet on the carpet, as though reverting to his default sexuality, ‘I think I deserve a room full of Playboy Bunnies and a permission slip from my girlfriend. But I’m not going to get that though, am I?’

I lunged forward and slapped him on the arm. ‘You shouldn’t want Playboy Bunnies. You’re supposed to be in love.’

‘Oh, yes, I forgot. You also believe that a man who loves you should never so much as imagine having sex with anyone else because that’s disloyal.’

‘I have good values.’

‘You have idealistic values. There’s a distinct difference.’

I sighed, feeling like a deflated balloon at the end of a party.

Matthew’s expression softened as he shuffled up next to me and wiggled his fingers in my face. ‘Are my hands manly?’

I inspected them and then laughed. ‘You’ve had a manicure?’

He frowned. ‘Well, what about your feet, Miss Perfect?’ He glanced down at my size eights. ‘They wouldn’t look out of place on a seven-foot basketball player.’

I kicked off my shoes and wiggled my long toes.

‘Seriously though, no one is perfect. You have to abandon your quest for the ideal man or you’re only going to be disappointed. And even if you do find a man possessing all your requirements, who’s to say he’d want to date a banana-footed fussy pants?’

I huffed and then folded my arms. ‘So, instead, I’m supposed to settle? For someone I don’t fancy or even like?’

He took a sip of wine and stared at me.

‘Or should I have stayed with Robert, forgiven him for calling off our engagement? Because, yes, of course, every relationship has its ups and downs. And as for his webcam chats with naked Ukrainians, and his extensive porn collection, well, I should stop being such a fussy pants. I need to adjust my expectations.’

Matthew’s expression suddenly morphed into his newsreader face. ‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

‘So, what are you saying?’

He looked me in the eye. ‘If Robert didn’t look like your perfect man, if he wasn’t a good-looking investment banker who drove a Ferrari, would you have fallen in love with him?’

I took another large gulp of wine, swished it around my mouth and considered what he had said.

‘The issue is,’ he went on as though having been chimed in by Big Ben, ‘you made too many assumptions based on the fact that he looked perfect to you.’

I nodded, taking in the headline but wanting the full story.

‘So, my wise guru, if my perfect man might not look like my perfect man, then how am I supposed to know who he is?’

‘Well, firstly,’ he said, raising a finger, his face fighting a smile. ‘We’ve already established that there are no perfect men. That’s error number one in your pursuit of love. You really must pay attention.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Okay, then. I stand corrected. As you are the fount of all knowledge on this matter, are you going to find Mr Not-so-perfect-but-right for me?’

He laughed. ‘What, like your personal matchmaker?’

I nodded. ‘You know me. You know what I’m looking for. So go find him. I’ll pay you in wine,’ I said, before refilling his glass.

Matthew stared at me for a moment, then pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose and picked up the notepad and pen from the coffee table.

‘Right, young lady,’ he said, adopting a matronly voice. ‘You say you want to meet a wealthy man. Could you explain why this is so important to you?’

I giggled. ‘So I can live in a big house and have a nice lifestyle, without having to worry about money.’

The cringe crept in as soon as I had said it.

‘Well, madam,’ he began, peering over his glasses, ‘in this day and age, a lady can go out and achieve such things without the aid of a man. So, you’re just being a lazybones. I’m going to cross that one off your list.’