So ladies, care to take a look at my prenup?
No, there isn't anyone special on the horizon at the moment, but it's best to be prepared, says John Masterson
NOBODY has been asking me to marry them recently, so I have had plenty of time to think about what I would want in a pre-nup. Not being filthy rich is no excuse for not being prepared. If I am going to invest time in developing a relationship with some woman's dog, I want to ensure that there is no domino effect.
Just because the lady may choose to break my heart is insufficient reason for me to then emotionally destroy a four-legged friend that has come to love me more than life itself. The fact of the matter is that animals do tend to appreciate my better qualities more than humans do, and I am all for minimising pain.
The hound's rights must be agreed in advance.
I have recently been reading Caitlin Moran's very explicit How To Be A Woman. Just why a testosterone-filled male should have embarked on this shall remain between myself and my book club. I may be just as feminist as the female members but until I got stuck into this missive I had no idea how difficult it was to become a woman.
A sex-change would be a piece of cake compared to what they have to go through. The last time I felt this outside the loop was when I read The Female Eunuch. That was a difficult book to read as my mother kept hiding it because she thought the cover was pornographic.
It never occurred to my mother to be a feminist. She just knew she was equal. But having read Caitlin, I have no idea my mother managed to ever become a woman. It is definitely a lot harder than becoming a man, where little of import changes throughout life other than the colour of pubic hair and the size of one's girth. A first erection doesn't even rate as an event by comparison with Caitlin's description of what the sisters go through. Reading this book has made me realise that a prenup is far too late in the game to be laying down rules where females are concerned. I think one needs an agreement before going out to dinner, going on holidays together and, most definitely, before going to bed.
A mystified male confided to me some time back that his sex life had taken a turn for the worse. His wife, of whom he was very fond, had taken to Twitter. This meant that every night in bed the last thing she did before turning off the lights was to spend about 20 minutes spooling through her phone giggling and going harumph. By the time she was finished, he was fast asleep.
He did complain once, but did not complain twice. Twitter addicts are not reasonable people.
So in my 'before bed nup' there will definitely be a clause specifying no phone in the bedroom. This would not necessarily apply to me.
It goes without saying that passing on infections to a loved-one is verboten. But there is one of these that is far more serious than a common-or-garden STD. It is the common cold. I recently suffered a man cold. Written into any contract, at any stage of loving, is that from the first sniffle all bodily contact must cease and the spare room is in use.
I am not a hypochondriac but there is nothing more inconsiderate than inflicting a cold on a loved-one. Also on the banned list are progress reports about the infection. The rules are simple. On first noticing a sore throat, one exits the stage and does not reappear in the other person's life until a full day clear of the lurgy. Howard Hughes got it about right. Finally, a first-world problem. One bathroom per person is the appropriate number. In the cleanliness stakes I will go no further than permitting a mixed load in the washing machine.
Sunday Indo Living