I consider myself a pretty independent woman. I have two, count them, two full time jobs. I pay for my student loans monthly with the funds in my bank account. And did I mention that I have a box of sex toys at my disposal? Just one drawer away, people!
Still, at times, I realize the inevitable. I open my yap and shout, “I need a man!” Just yesterday morning I huffed, “I need a man!” when Mami asked me to take out the trash. It was smelly, full of chuleta scraps and bird feed, and very heavy! As I dragged the plastic, stinky garbage bag, I began to daydream. A handsome man (I always date handsome men) would grab the bag from my dainty hands while wiping the sweat of my brow. He would take my dainty hand, shoo away the hoodlums, and sit me down on the stoop. I’d salivate as he’d lift the heavy garbage bag, push the black door that leads to the basement, and hurl the bag toward its Hefty comrades.
This is why I need a man.
There’s also suitcases. Whenever I go to Boston on Megabus, I carry my suitcase down four flights of stairs and trek through the subway rolling said suitcase. I damn the Gods each time I travel, frustrated at my state of affairs. Why can’t I have a man to travel with so he can pick me up in his ride? Even if he didn’t have a car, at least he’d lug this bitch around for me!
Then there’s the intimacy. I can get freaky with B.O.B (Battery Operated Boyfriend) but B.O.B does not cuddle or kiss back. Certain nights, I lay in bed wishing a man were beside me, to warm me with his masculine arms and kiss me tenderly in the morning, stank breath and all.
At this point, I”ll even accept a man who snores.
So yes, I am a very independent woman who works with teens in the day and writes about love at night, who pays her bills on time and has an Excellent credit score, who is not afraid to use B.O.B pre-menstruation or when my pepa™ calls to be pleasured.
But sometimes I just need a man by my side.