how to please a woman
i saw a movie once
can’t remember what movie it was, but
i remember this one scene:
it was after the protagonist couple made love,
and it was the middle of the night,
and the man got dressed and went outside,
and no, it was not to leave
(i know half of you were thinking that, admit it)
but he went outside, into the garden
and picked a bunch of flowers
and put them all over the bed.
So in the morning, when the woman woke up,
she was still alone, but she was surrounded in flowers.
now, i know it’s just a movie,
but i have these visions in my head
of how perfect life is supposed to be.
okay, okay, call it being raised on Cinderella
and Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, but
in the back of my mind i still have this vision in my head
of being swept away. Wake me with a
kiss. Ride me off into the sunset.
i don’t want to tell someone how to
sweep me off my feet, how to be romantic.
Part of romance is the element of surprise.
yes, i know, this is the age of communication
and we’re supposed to tell each other how we feel
but i guess, as unreasonable as this is
about to sound, i want you to be able to read my mind.
Or don’t read it, and completely catch me off guard
(and i mean that in a good way - don’t catch me
off guard, for instance, by watching baseball
instead of celebrating my birthday).
sure, it could be flowers, i guess, but don’t think
that we’re trying to get you to spend your money or
that we’re trying to milk you for all you’re worth
because flowers picked from your garden -
or someone else’s - are often better than the ones from the store.
Maybe a bath. a picnic. those are even better
than flowers, because they give the gift
we really want - time. we want to know you
are not only taking time out to be with us,
but that you took the time to plan it to make it perfect.
we want you to tell us we look pretty
when we need to hear it. you don’t know
when we need to hear it? just look into our eyes.
you’ll know. we want you to look excited to
see us when you come home from work,
even if you’re tired and just want to eat. we want
to feel like we mean the world to you, like we
mean more than a beer does to you while you’re
sitting on the couch watching sitcoms.
we want foreplay to mean more than “oh, i’ve
grabbed her chest, now it’s time to insert.”
we want poetry written for us: the sun rises
and it means nothing without us, that kind of stuff.
okay, you’re not a poet: maybe you could
write us a letter every once in a while. oh,
i know, it’s that damn time thing again,
but that’s what it takes, remember? even a note
just saying “i love you” on it would be enough.
here’s an idea: drop it in the mail. i know you
see us every day; that’s what makes it special.
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
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