End Violence Against Women

On Tuesday I was sitting in a coffee shop with my friend Lana, reading a post by the journalist Clementine Ford. She had compiled screen shots of some (some, just some) of the horrendous abuse she received from men (and the odd woman) around the world for daring to express her opinions and for defending herself when attacked online.

I was stunned by the vitriol. Stunned by the hatred. Stunned by the language. C**t. Slut. Whore. Rape threats. Threats of violence. It was horrifying.

What was even more horrifying is that so many of these men used their real names. Their social media profiles showed pictures of them smiling with their families, or linked to Facebook pages listing their hobbies and interests. There were pictures of dogs and friends and holidays. This is how little they fear consequence or retribution. Because there IS no consequence online.

It was not me being attacked. I tend to fly under the radar when it comes to online abuse; I write about parenting and relationships and life and anxiety and just don't attract that kind of attention.

But those messages reflected such a profound misogyny, such a deep seated contempt of women, that the actual target was irrelevant. When you attack women with those kind of words, you attack us all.

Everyone gets abused online from time to time. Men also get abused online. But men are not threatened with sexual violence. Men are not threatened with harm towards their families. Men are not degraded and intimidated into silence.

I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear the fact that people feel they can attack women in this way. I wanted to do something. I wanted to show my support for Clem, but not just for Clem, for all women who are abused online.

And so I gathered some friends. I asked that we each tweet the names of the offenders listed on Clem's post, or at least the names of some of the worst offenders. I asked that we use the hashtag #endviolenceagainstwomen, and link to her post so people know what we are dealing with.

Please note that we do not wish to abuse or threaten or slander these men. We are simply naming them as being the authors of abusive tweets. Their messages stand for themselves.

I wanted to stand up and say that this is not okay. That this kind of abuse will be noticed. That there are consequences. That we will stand together and support each other. That when you attack one of us, you attack us all.

By this morning, my little group of friends had grown into a group of hundreds, and it keeps growing. You will see our tweets and read our Facebook posts. If you wish to support us, please share this post and others like it. If you are on Twitter, please retweet our tweets or cut and paste them into your own timelines.

I don't believe for a moment that this will change our culture of violence. I don't believe for a moment that this will end violence against women. But it's a start. A small step. A show of strength and support.

You have to start somewhere. We are starting here. Today.

Finally... An Excellent First Date

I had a brilliant date this week. One of the best ever.

We had connected online - on Twitter, to be precise - after corresponding about a project my date had been involved with. Unfortunately we live in separate states, but when my date travelled to Sydney for work we arranged to meet for lunch.

Often you meet someone and they look different to their photos, or the connection you had in the written word doesn't translate to a real life chemistry. In this case we just clicked. From the moment we saw each other in the assigned location, to the moment I had to leave an hour and a half later, we did not stop talking.

Our time together was too short. I'm so looking forward to seeing her again.

Yes, she's a her. A female friend. And no, this post is not about coming out - it is about the joys of female friendship, and the strange reality that it is so much easier to find a connection with another female than it is with a man.

This Saturday night I have a date with another new friend. She's a bit younger than me, absolutely gorgeous, and fabulous fun. We met through work, and our interactions are super easy and relaxed. Another dear friend of mine is the sister of a friend, and when we were introduced at the party we both knew we'd be in each others' lives forever.

Of course I don't connect with every woman I meet. But in the last couple of years I have formed several real, rewarding connections with female friends, and yet - despite dating regularly - I have not felt it with a new man. And I'm not the only one. My single/divorced female friends report exactly the same thing. They meet women they connect with all the time, but not men. And it's baffling. Are men and women really so different? And if so, how can we bridge that gap?

"How could I have met 30 or more men and not one was right?" a friend asked. I couldn't answer, because my experience has been the same. And don't tell us we're too choosy, because all we are looking for is the same resonance that we feel with female friends. That feeling of inhabiting the same emotional landscape. Would you settle for anything less?

As my date this week agreed, true connections fill up our cup. And my cup is largely being filled by women (metaphorically, not literally, see 'not coming out' comment). I cherish my female friends. And girl dates really do lift my soul.

The Seven (Eight?) Steps of An Internet Date

Note: This is not a manual. This is my personal experience. This is probably why I am still single. I know, I know...... 

Stage One

Receive kiss/smile/nudge/message/swipe from person on Internet Dating site. Think, "Oh, he's cute! Thank god! There are still cute people left in my age group!" Respond positively.

Note: If the person is repulsive, terminate here.

Stage Two

Begin messaging the person. Think, "Oh, he's funny and can spell! Thank god! There are still funny people left on the internet who can spell!" Casually ask what the person's job is to check he is not in jail, unemployed or a real estate agent. Breathe sigh of relief. Casually how long the person has been separated/divorced/widowed/single to check he is not married, 'separated but still living together', 'looking for some threesome fun' or needing solace after the sudden death of his wife last week. Breathe sigh of relief.

Note: If the person is illiterate, married, grieving or a real estate agent, terminate here.

Stage Three

Exchange real names. Immediately Google the person to check they are, indeed, who they say they are. When LinkedIn profile matches Internet Dating profile, breathe a sigh of relief.

Note: If the person does not actually exist on the internet, terminate here. Everyone who is a real person has some kind of online footprint. I mean, some people actually don't, but they are to be approached with the utmost suspicion and caution and I ain't got time for that.

Stage Four

Exchange phone numbers. Add person's name to phone with helpful reference details such as 'Phil the Accountant from RSVP', 'Mark the Podiatrist from eHarmony' or 'Simon the Hottie from Tinder'. Commence texting.

Note: You probably wouldn't really save 'Simon the Hottie from Tinder' in your phone as he probably won't be around for long, but I'm trying to be comprehensive here.

Stage Five

Exchange witty texts for a couple of days. Forward the choicest texts to your best friend with captions such as 'He's so funny!' and 'He's so clever!' and 'Look how cute he looks holding a wombat!'

Note: If he can't spell for shit, is boring, or doesn't respond to your texts within an hour, terminate here.

Stage Six

Speak on the phone.

Note: If he sounds like something out of Kingswood Country, if there are massive, awkward silences, or if he has a higher voice than you, terminate here. 

Stage Seven

Meet.

Note: If he looks twenty years older than his pictures, if he is six inches shorter than specified, if he is obnoxious/rude to waitstaff/boring/arrogant/disinterested in you, if he has no sense of humour, if he doesn't get your humour, if he cries when talking about his ex, if he becomes purple with rage when talking about his ex, if he doesn't ask you anything about yourself, if he talks excitedly about your future babies, if he proselytizes about God/clean eating/manifesting your own truth, or if he simply does not resonate with you for whatever reason, terminate here.

Stage Eight

Fucked if I know. I guess you meet again?

Why Looks Matter, Though I Wish They Didn't

In a recent post I referenced a woman who had shamed a man who didn't find her attractive because she was fat. Very contentious stuff. And I've been thinking about it a lot since.

Attraction is important. We are not just brains - we are brains walking around in bodies with faces attached. Our bodies and faces are as much a part of who were are as our minds. And our brains have a tremendous influence on our bodies and faces. Think about it. What do you eat? How much do you exercise? How much makeup do you wear? What clothes do you choose? How do you do your hair? Do you have tattoos/piercings/weird feather type things sticking out from odd places? 

All of these decisions come from your brain, and will change your appearance accordingly.

But it works the other way, too. We are all born with a particular body - a body that can be altered to an extent, but not entirely. How tall or short we are, how conventionally attractive our features, our genetic predisposition to being thin or fat, any disabilities or illnesses, will all dramatically affect our personalities.

My last boyfriend.

We are a combination of mind and body. And when we meet other people, we are attracted to their particular combination of mind and body, or we are not. 

I don't really understand the science of attraction. I know that I can find classically good looking men remarkably uninteresting, and can be devastatingly attracted to men who would be more suited to the cover of Horse and Hound magazine than Men's Health. But I also know that I can have a visceral repulsion towards a man who may be perfectly pleasant in personality, but whose appearance triggers something negative in me. It may have nothing whatsover to do with traditional notions of beauty, but rather his appearance doesn't resonate with me for reasons I can't articulate.

Of course, attraction is fluid. We can find someone unattractive on first meeting, get to know them, and decide they're not so bad after all. I remember thinking a friend's husband was the least attractive man in the universe until I became friends with him, and realised he was nice looking after all. As I said, brains and body are inextricably connected.

But what to do when you're dating? And is judging people on their looks something we should feel bad about? Lana and I discussed these issues the other day. Would love to hear your thoughts.

Ask Me About Dating!

So... a couple of weeks ago I was approached by eHarmony to participate in a series of videos about dating and relationships. At first I assumed I was chosen because I am such an expert in matters of love and sex - after all, I have written extensively on the subject and been on about 17,000 dates with 16,999 different men.

As discussions continued, however, it became clear that the videos would feature a REAL expert in love and sex, and that I would be there as an example of someone who needs help.

Which is fine. Really. I'm totally cool with that. As is my cat, who will probably eat my body after I die alone....

Anyway. I like eHarmony. I've actually met a couple of really nice men through eHarmony (and one dude who turned out to be a complete and utter nob, but that really wasn't the fault of the website). And I'm excited to be meeting Melanie Schilling, the Proper Relationship Expert. I have all sorts of questions for her, like:

1. How long should you chat to someone before you actually meet them?
2. Do you need to give someone a reason why you don't wish to see them again?
3. Why was that dude such an utter nob?

Even more excitingly, as the video won't be shot for another couple of weeks, I can ask any questions that you have for Melanie. You can write them as a comment here on the blog, in Facebook or on Twitter, or email me directly if you want to remain anonymous, at k.sack@live.com and we will address them in the video.

For those of you who do not require dating advice, after you finish celebrating your paired-up status, feel free to ask me about my own dating experiences. I have some super interesting stories to tell.

Begin!

12 Reasons An Electric Blanket Is Better Than A Man

1. It heats up super quickly when you are in the mood.
   
2. It never gets hot for anyone but you.
   
3. It gets turned on even when you're in your old pyjamas and bedsocks.
   
4. It exists purely for your pleasure and seeks nothing for itself (except power, which is kind of attractive).
   
5. It doesn't complain that its legs have fallen asleep when you lie on it.
   
6. You are its first. The warranty says so.
   
7. When you need a break it will sit on the shelf and wait for you indefinitely
   
8. It will never get you pregnant.
   
9. It gives you exactly what you need when you are sick or cranky.
   
10. It is adjustable.
    
11. It is only very rarely combustible.
    
12. It will keep performing for you until it dies.

If you've ever rejected anyone you'll know this to be true...

I have been on a lot of first dates, most of which do not progress to seconds. Between my single girlfriends and me, we've racked up dozens. And a pattern has emerged, showing a glaring difference between the way that men and women handle rejection.

Men who are rejected tend to argue their case. Women who are rejected slink quietly away.

I've been rejected after one or two dates. It's horrible, particularly if you really like the guy. But the idea of pleading for a second chance, or arguing with the dude that he's wrong, is completely bizarre. What on earth would be the point? Who would want to go out with someone who gave you a second chance under sufferance? Who would want to go out with someone who rejected you???

But men think differently. I have had several men debate with me when I've told them very politely that I don't wish to see them again. One man told me that I owed him a chance to 'do better', and that really he wasn't at all the way he appeared on the first date. (Presumably he was acting when we met?) Another made the fine point that my rejecting him left us both still single, implying that a) it was my fault that he was alone, and b) it would be preferable to be with someone I didn't like than to remain unpartnered.

I have had men argue with me over the reasons for my rejection, telling me that my feelings were not valid, that my impressions of them were wrong, that I had no right to judge them. (Which begs the question: What are dates for?) 

And, when I've gone the easy route and said a simple 'Sorry, I'm just not feeling it' I have been told I am too superficial. It seems that a man is allowed to reject a woman when they don't feel any chemistry, but if a woman does the same it makes us shallow. 

Not all men are like this. But I can tell you in all honesty that the vast majority of men do not take rejection well. There is an overwhelming sense of entitlement, an expectation that if they like me, then I should try harder to like them. 

And it impacts on me, this sense of entitlement. It makes me feel guilty every time I politely tell a man I'm not interested. It makes me feel anxious when I open my inbox, in case there's an angry response from the guy I had a drink with yesterday. It makes me feel pathetically grateful when a man accepts my rejection gracefully and doesn't beg or berate me.

But it doesn't work in the reverse. Not even slightly. A man can reject a woman without a second thought, without any guilt or explanation or attempts to soften the blow. Men don't feel they owe women anything, particularly not women to whom they're not attracted. 

Dating is about assessing whether you want to get to know someone further. No-one owes anyone anything other than honesty and kindness. Rejection hurts - trust me, I know - but you can't argue someone into liking you. Say 'Thank you, it was nice meeting you,' and move on. Eventually you'll find someone who doesn't need convincing. 

And if you don't, well, at least you'll still have respect.

An Open Letter To The Man Who Likes Older Women

Dear Man Who Likes Older Women,

Thank you so much for approaching me on a dating site. I was touched to hear from you. 

You mention specifically in your profile that you are looking for someone over the age of 45 as you, and I quote, 'LOVE MY OLDER WOMEN'. I am not actually 'your' older woman, but that's really just semantics. I totally get that you want to hook an elderly person such as myself, and I'm honoured that I am considered old enough for you. After all, I really just scrape in there at 46.

You are clear that you 'know how to treat a lady' and will treat your partner 'as a princess'. This sounds very exciting to me as I would love to be treated as a princess. I particularly like the idea of having servants to wait on me and travelling in a private jet. I'm not sure about being on the cover of magazines, but presumably you can get your people to insist upon my privacy, as I used to be just a commoner. Of course, being an older woman I am probably more qualified to be a Queen than a princess, or perhaps even a Queen Mother, but again, these are fine details that we can thrash out later with my ladies-in-waiting.

I'm excited about my date!

I was curious about why you prefer the company of older women, and happily you cover that in your profile. You explain that older ladies are better confidants, better communicators, and better lovers. It is definitely true that I am a better lover than women under the age of 46, though admittedly women 47 and older are, by definition, better than me. 

As for being a better communicator, I think I am indeed very good at talking. To be perfectly honest, I talk more eloquently to intelligent people than to dickheads who approach women on the internet because they're old. But I'm sure I can make an exception for you.

And yes, I am certainly a better confidant than a young woman. Most young women wouldn't listen to you for more than 30 seconds without deleting you. I'm giving you a whole blog post! I know. You can thank me in the palace later. 

All in all I think we will make an excellent couple and I eagerly await our future together.

There's just one small issue.

Man Who Likes Older Women, you state that you are 43 years old. That is only three years younger than me. I am looking for someone way, way younger. Like maybe 24 or 25 at the oldest. They are such great communicators and terrific confidants, and I will treat my younger man like a prince....

Kerri

A Mood Alert Dog? Now THIS is what I need

Yesterday I stumbled across an amazing short film about a 15 year old girl and her Diabetic Alert Dog. Jackie the dog alerts Grace to fluctuations in her blood sugar that Grace cannot feel, and protects her charge from diabetic seizures, coma and, possibly, death.

As a Cat Person, I have never been privvy to animals with special skills. Penny the Feline can recognise the words 'treat', 'food' and, well, 'Penny', but that's about it. She was useless at learning to use the human toilet (Litter Kwitter is bullshit, people, it is bullshit) and has still not quite comprehended that we do not enjoy gifts of lizards, mice and rats.

Furthermore, my late rabbits Spunky, Pretzel and Hot Cross Bun Bun didn't even recognise their own names. If they had special skills we were unaware of them (and they most certainly didn't extend to avoiding foxes). So I was incredibly impressed by the powers of dogs to assist humans with disabilities.

Not only can Diabetic Alert Dogs recognise blood sugar changes, but Seizure Alert Dogs can, astonishingly, predict seizures in their epileptic owners up to 20 minutes ahead of time. And this got me thinking. What other issues could dogs be trained to recognise? Could I have my own Alert Dog to help me in my life?

"You have PMS, Human"

For example:

• A Mood Alert Dog, who would predict a rapid plummet in mood up to 15 minutes before it occured, then alert my loved ones with special barks so that they can get away from me quickly before becoming a casualty.
• A Bad Man Alert Dog, who would assess potential suitors via their pheromones and warn me not to get emotionally involved.
• A Hormone Alert Dog, good for sniffing out PMS, ovulation, early pregnancy, oncoming periods and menopause. No more urine tests or doctors visits required!
• A Conflict Alert Dog, especially for the family, who would recognise upcoming tensions and arguments and separate warring parties before the trouble began.
• A Binge Alert Dog, who would bark and nip and attack when I overeat/ drink too much/ attempt to drunk text/ basically do anything wrong at all.

Watch Grace's story here. Jackie the dog first appears at about 3:15. Amazing.

Dating: What I Have Learned So Far

Well, it hasn't been long, but it's been long enough. I have been out on the scene, and I have found out a thing or two about how it works.

Let me tell you, it is interesting out there in Dating World. I've met some terrific people - some even more than once. And I have learned some lessons; lessons about what it's like to be dating in your forties, and lessons about what it's like to be dating at all.

• Texting and emails are not the same as face to face communication. You can have a wonderful connection with someone in messages, and none at all in person, and unless you're planning to conduct your relationship via smart phone from separate rooms you need to find that out. Meet sooner rather than later. 
• You will know within 30 seconds of meeting someone face to face if you are attracted to them. I know that attraction can grow over time. I also know that it has very little to do with 'objective' good looks. But trust me. You can look at photos, you can exchange emails, but once you walk into that room and meet that person you will know immediately if the chemistry is there or not. And if it's not there, it's not there, and it's never going to be.
• Be yourself from the very first meeting. There is no point feigning hobbies or interests, or trying not to swear when you usually do, or not mentioning your kids, or pretending you don't eat much. It doesn't matter how 'perfect' he seems. If he doesn't like you for you then he is not perfect and it would never work. And besides, trying to be someone else is exhausting. It's hard enough just being ourselves.
• Men can and do have as much relationship baggage as women, if not more. The difference is that women, generally speaking, will give themselves time before they start dating again. Men often rush out onto the dating scene almost immediately after a break up because they are loathe to be alone. And so you can find yourself dating a man who still has unresolved feelings for his ex. Beware. Ask questions. Listen carefully. And if he still seems to be pining for Kylie from two months ago, run very quickly back to RSVP. Because she isn't going away any time soon.
• A man who does not return your emails or texts is either dead or not interested in you. Retain your dignity and do not chase. But by the same token, be polite and respectful to the men you are not interested in and let them know so that they don't have to sit around waiting. A simple 'I'm sorry, I don't think it's going to work out' is sufficient and is basic human courtesy. (And to the very nice man who deserved better, I apologise. I'm just figuring this all out myself.)
• A small penis will always be a small penis, no matter how much time and love you give it. I mean this metaphorically, of course. A small penis isn't necessarily an issue. But if there is a is an issue at the beginning of a relationship - a characteristic, an attitude, unfinished business, a flaw - chances are it's not going to change. 
• Have fun. A few coffees, a few drinkies, meeting new people, having a chance to go out in the world... it's all good. And when it's not all good, have a break. Because, after all, there is nothing wrong with being alone.
  It's quite nice, actually.

What IS It With Men & Hair?

The other day I got my hair cut. It's not a big deal. I didn't get a buzz cut, or a mohawk, or - god forbid - a mullet. I got a fairly standard, chin length, concave bob; you know, shorter in the back, slightly longer in the front. My hair is curly so it bounces up. But it's not that short, and it wasn't that drastic a cut, and at the end of the day it's just hair.

So why did my husband freak out so much?

Okay, he didn't exactly 'freak out'. He didn't cry or throw things or rent his clothes or tear his hair or run of the house screaming 'WHY, KERRI? WHYYYYYYYYY?'

If my husband had his way.....

But he did look horrified.

"I hate it," he said to me. "I hate it!"

I shrugged. "I really like it," I told him. "And there's nothing I can do now, anyway."

"Grow it!" he pleaded, despairingly. "I want you to grow it back! Now!"

My husband is 46 years old and has a masters degree. I hadn't anticipated his faulty grasp of the laws of biology and physics, but it's always interesting to learn new things about your partner.

"You do know hair doesn't grow six inches overnight?" I asked him.

"I can't look at you," he cried. "I'm not going to look at you till it grows back!"

"Okay!" I said. I poked him in the chest. He looked at me. I giggled.

Since getting my hair cut I've discovered that many men seem overly invested in their partner's tresses. They become distressed or unsettled if she cuts her hair significantly, with the level of upset proportionate to the number of inches trimmed. It's like a Rapunzel complex, only without the eternal youth, and I have to wonder what it's all about.

Perhaps men subconsciously link their own masculinity to the length of their partner's locks. Or perhaps some primal instant links long hair with fertility and the ability to skin and cook a woolly mammoth. Or perhaps they just like to see hair on the pillow that's not theirs. I DON'T KNOW.

All I know is that I love my new hair. And my husband seems to be getting used to it. Or at least, he's stopped talking about how little hair I have. Which is good. Very good. Because once we're on that topic, let me just say....

The Naked Husband

I'm coming to you live from Melbourne (at least, my upper body is; my feet have been dead with cold since I touched down at Tullamarine Airport).

I came down to temperate *insert snorts of laughter* Melbourne on Tuesday to give a keynote address at a charity function. My flight was delayed an hour by the Melbourne fog (at least, that's what they told us, and it's certainly a more comforting thought than 'for the pilot to sober up'), so I spent some time in Sydney airport browsing around the shops. I bought a scarf for extra warmth, a shawl for even more warmth, and a ring to remind me that my fingers still existed once they were dangling numb and frozen from my arms. All have served their purpose well.

I was put up at a lovely hotel, The Royce, although as delightful as it was I will never be staying there again. I was given a faulty key, and was forced to complain at the front desk, then suffered the hideous mortification of discovering that the only thing faulty in the whole failure-to-open-door manouvre was my brain. So as delightful as the room was, and as warm and welcoming the service, I can never return to an establishment which sees me to be the fool I really am.

On Tuesday evening I had dinner with my cousins, all 300,000 of them. We crammed into a Chinese restaurant and ate dumplings and compared photos of our 30 billion children, approximately none of whose names I still remember. (Okay, I remember two of their names. But they have really cute names. NOT that the others don't have cute names. I'm sure they do. I just can't remember them.)

On Wednesday morning I woke up and went outside, which was obviously an insane thing to do as it was about minus 100% and utterly freezing. (And yes, this is an exaggeration, but really only very slight.) So I ran back inside again, wrapped myself in scarf and shawl and ring, and waited to be picked up to go and give my talk. 

My speech was quite successful, even the bits in which I wasn't talking about sex or vomit or breasts. And I didn't even need to use the special hand signal I had arranged with my aunt, in whch she had to laugh and applause rapturously whenever I touched my forehead.

Later, I did a book signing, where happily every single member of the audience approached me and bought my book (using 'every single' in it's lesser known sense of 'a small proportion'). Then I ate lots and lots of chocolate cake in my post-speech rush, because - as is commonly known - after a period of excitement nothing contains calories for at least an hour and a half.

After the function I was picked up by my darling friend Kylie Ladd and transported to her home, where I would be spending the night. We were met there by my other dear friend TheNDM, who took me out for coffee whilst Kylie attended to mundane things such as child rearing and finding me a towel.

When TheNDM and I returned, we chatted for a while with Kylie, and were joined shortly afterward's by Kylie's husband Craig. After introductions, and two minutes of chit chat, Craig retired to the bathroom for a shower, before appearing several minutes later stark naked in search of soap. Well, the guy has a great arse, but I probably didn't need to see it quite so soon. After all, I have known many of my friend's husbands for over a decade and are yet to see them stark naked. Still, it certainly accelerated the intimacy. I immediately felt comfortable brushing my teeth in the lounge room, announcing I needed to do a wee, and prancing naked in front of Kylie's family (although I refrained from doing the latter for fear of startling their neighbours).

I later fell asleep in Kylie's daughter's bed, surrounded by a team of Littlest Petshop centurians, who kept me safe all night, except for when I stepped on one on my way to the loo. All in all, it was a most successful visit.

Though when I come back again, I'm going to insist that Craig keeps his pants on at all times. Either that, or he can carry around a bar of soap. Intimacy is good, but I'm starting to think Kylie and I are close enough.

The Marriage Cure-All

As you may have noticed, one of the main themes of my writing (actually, one of the main themes of my life) is that marriage is hard. Really hard. Living with the same person day in, day out for 150 years can be challenging, to say the least. Shoes on the bed, undies on the floor, hair in the sink, and major differences of opinion on everything from child care to whether Girls Of The Playboy Mansion is acceptable viewing entertainment.... It's tough.

Normally I just whinge about how difficult it all is, and offer nothing in the way of solutions. Today, however, is different. Today, I have a solution.

Before I offer you my cure-all for marriage discontent, though, I need to give you some background.

This past weekend, I have been the parent of an only child. My mum took my big kids to the coast for the weekend so I had only Boo to look after. And it was easy. Heavenly, in fact. Boo is an energetic three year old who enjoys noise and mess and chaos as much as the next child, but having her alone - without the additional noise and mess and chaos of her brother and sister - was a breeze.



When you have only one child, it seems hard (mainly because it is). However, when you have more than one child, being left with only one seems easy in comparison.

Which is how I stumbled upon my Marriage Cure-All.

Now, obviously we can't make marriage easier. Men and women living together in harmony??? That's just silly talk! But what we can do is to make marriage seem easier, by tricking ourselves with a bit of comparison.

What do I mean? Well, when your man is making you crazy, surround yourself with many men. You think living with one man is difficult? Try living with three or four or even five! Hell, try a dozen! Live with them for a week. Listen to them blowing their noses in the middle of the night. Argue with them over finances. Watch them hogging the TV remote. Negotiate with them over when to visit the in-laws. Hear them complain about not getting enough sex.

And then just when you think you've had as much as you can take, send all of them away except for your partner. He'll be the same old partner, and he won't be any easier to live with, but as there'll only be one of him, life will seem easier. I promise!

Marriage, The Eruption

Yesterday I was in a delightful bookstore and bought several very delightful books (actually, that's not quite true - one was on drug addiction and prostitution, one was on suicide, and one was a series of essays on social phenomenon. But they all had very nice covers.)

I also bought a tiny book called 'Don'ts For Wives', written in London in 1913. Despite its fairly negative title (I would have thought 'Do's For Wives' was rather more catchy) it is a marvellously upbeat little tome, full of nuggets of wisdom that need only minor modernisation to stay relevant today.

So, for your elucidation, education and entertainment (and a totally gratuitous use of alliteration) here are some of those nuggets, helpfully updated by me:

"Don't moralise by way of winning back the love that seems to be waning. Make yourself extra charming and arrange delicious dinners which include all your husband's favourite dishes."
= After you've been married for a while, you and your husband will go off each other. Find solace in food.

 "Don't argue with a stubborn husband. Drop the matter before argument leads to temper. You can generally gain your point in some other way."
= Don't bother fighting with your husband because he'll never give in. Withhold sex instead.

"Don't be shy of showing your love. A playful caress as you pass his chair, an unexpected touch on the shoulder, makes all the difference between merely knowing that you care for him and actually feeling it."
= Oral sex will keep your husband happy.

"Don't get angry if your husband says that he never now tastes cake like that his mother used to make. Write and ask her for the recipe."
= Live far away from your mother-in-law.

"Don't try to excite your husband's jealousy by flirting with other men. You may succeed better than you want to. It is like playing with tigers and edged tools and volcanoes all in one."
= Stay away from other men's tools or you could cause an eruption....

"Don't arrange for the chimney sweep to come on the day your husband happens to be staying at home. He won't like either the sooty smell or the subsequent upset for cleaning purposes."
= Ignore the above.

The Husband Speaks

Hopefully by now you all will have rushed to Booktopia to pre-order my book and watch the instructional video I made (using 'instructional' in its lesser known sense of 'rude'). Of course, if you're coming to my launch or planning to buy the book in a bookstore then you are excused from pre-ordering, but I highly recommend you still watch the video.

The video is a re-enactment of a dissertation I once gave called "Marital Advice" (you can tell it's a re-enactment because, well, it's a cartoon). I presented the dissertation at a Women's Function a year ago (using 'Women's Function' in the sense of 'Girl's Night Out').

However, the video offers only one side of the marital story - the female's. So, in the interests of journalistic fairness, I give to you: Marital Advice Part Two: The Husband Speaks.

Watch. And learn.

My Ideal Man

Last night on Twitter, my friend Yvette mentioned that she wished she was married to an editor - presumably because she needed assistance editing something, as opposed to editors being so devastatingly attractive (which is not to say that they're not devastatingly attractive, but that's just the way I read it).

I can tell you right now that I wouldn't want to be married to an editor. Not because there's anything wrong with editors (quite the contrary, some of my best friends are editors (which is actually not true but I'm trying to make a point here)) but because I need editors in my line of work and there is NO way I could work with someone I'm married to. Particularly not the person I'm married to at the moment (and when I say 'at the moment', it is because if we did work together, we wouldn't be married 'in the future').

I couldn't work with my husband for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I wouldn't want to spend that much time with him (I think from 7pm to 8am weeknights and one day on the weekend is the perfect balance), and secondly I think he's really bossy and he thinks I'm really argumentative, and the combination of attitudes just doesn't make for a smooth working relationship.

However, it did get me thinking about the kind of person I would like to be married to (apart from the one I am married to, of course). And my first thought was: A gourmet chef who also loved to do the laundry. It just sounded like that would make for a pretty fun life.

My second thought was that I'd like my laundry-loving gourmet-chef to be able to moonlight as a model, because of the magnificence of his physique and the luxuriousness of his hair, but for him to choose not to, because in his spare time he prefers more cerebral pursuits such as reading philosophy (critically, of course - I don't want someone who blindly accepts any propaganda he is fed), studying architecture, and writing for publications such as The New York Review Of Books and The Australian.

I would also like him to be a self-made millionaire - something to do with internet start-up companies would be good - and to be fabulous with kids, fabulous with parents, fabulous with my friends, and fabulous with me. Oh, and a fabulous lover. But not too 'fabulous'. If you know what I mean.

A couple of other women tweeted about their ideal husbands before the evening was over. Susan wanted an 'independently wealthy orphan who can cook', which pretty much says it all. Rebecca wanted a handyman, which would be useful, but I'm thinking I could afford to pay for a handyman if I married an independently wealthy orphan. And Tara wanted a masseur, child-whisperer, gardening-guru sex god who was also a talented mechanic, Tupperware addict, and social butterfly. Which didn't seem unreasonable at all.

However, Alison's needs were more simple. "I want one that speaks, doesn't fart, cooks and cleans" she tweeted. But, as I haven't come across a man yet who fulfils all those criteria, I suspect that's as hard an ask as any.

Still, the final word must go to Jo.

"Bloody hell," she tweeted. "I just wish I was married!"

Just not to one of our men, baby. Not to one of ours.

Not Just Your Average Peni... I Mean Post

So the other night my husband and I were watching an educational documentary on SBS. We do that a lot. This particular educational documentary was about porn stars, which made for an interesting change (usually the SBS docos we watch are about prostitutes, strippers, pole dancers and sex addicts).

The doco followed a renowned photographer who decided to do a series of portraits of porn stars with and without their clothes on. This was designed to highlight all sorts of deep and meaningful things, such as how different porn stars look with and without their clothes on.

My husband and I watched the show with great interest. After all, neither of us had really seen porn stars with clothes on, so it was quite fascinating.

The porn actresses featured in the doco were very diverse. As one would expect, there were a couple of dozen actresses who were blonde, slim and huge breasted, but there was also one actress who was black, slim and huge breasted, and one actress who was Asian, slim and small breasted. Really quite an extraordinary collection of female forms.

As for the men, well, they were a revelation. Seriously. I didn't recognise this straight away as the renowned photographer began by taking pics of the guys with their clothes on. Of course, I did notice that one of the men seemed to be tucking something ginormous down the leg of his jeans, but I assumed it was a spare sock, or maybe a Subway bread roll for his lunch. It wasn't until he stripped off for his naked shot that I saw what it actually was.

It was a penis.

Now, I kind of guessed that the porn actors would have penises. I've been around the block once or twice or even *insert number of times I've actually been around the block* times. And I've seen the odd porno. But I have never, and I repeat NEVER, seen anything like this specimen. Ladies (and gentlemen), it was terrifying. If I had ever contemplated a future in the porn industry (which I really would do only when Toddler started school full time) then this put me right off. The thing was HUGE.

Now, I know some women believe that size is important (although personally, I have always been more attracted to the man attached to the penis than the penis attached to the man), but this thing was a killer. If I was to see something that size come at me (er, so to speak) I would throw my shoes at it in terror and run screaming from the room.

That, of course, is never going to happen, as I'm happily married to a man whose penis is *insert husband's actual penis size here* inches long. But it freaked me out big time. Firstly, because I did not realise that there was another category after 'small', 'medium' and 'large'.

And secondly, I have NO idea how they manage to walk around with those things.

Hot Or Not

originally published in the Sunday Telegraph

I’ve had a revelation. All that primping and preening we women do to impress the men in our lives? They don’t notice. And when we’re having a bad hair day or we’ve gained a couple of pounds? They don’t notice that, either.

In fact, when it comes to women, men don’t notice much of anything.

The other day my husband and I bumped into P, a female acquaintance. I’ve always considered P to be very attractive, but on this occasion she looked – to put it subtly – considerably less ravishing than usual.

“God, P looked crap today!” I remarked to my hubby as we moved on (I don’t bother with subtleties when I’m with my spouse).

“She looked the same as always,” my husband replied. “She looked good.”

“But her face was puffy!” I protested. “And her hair was frizzy! And didn’t you notice that pimple on her chin?”

My husband bestowed upon me the exaggeratedly patient look he usually reserves for explaining number concepts to our eight year old daughter.

“Kerri, P is hot.”

“But she looked terrible today!”

He rolled his eyes. “Only a woman thinks another woman looks good one day and bad the next. A man decides if a woman is hot or not. If she’s hot, she’s hot. If she’s not, she’s not. Whether P is frizzy or pimply or has a horn growing out of her ear, she’s hot. End of story.”

I thought about what my husband said as P disappeared into the distance. (Her hair really was a mess.) If it was true – and a far reaching survey of my two closest male friends has since confirmed it – then a lot of male behaviour began to make sense.

So that’s why men don’t appreciate celebrity magazines. They don’t look gleefully at shots of J-Lo’s cellulitic thighs and think “Ah, I see! She’s fat and ugly after all!” They think “The girl is sex-on-legs. Stop wasting my time.”

And that’s why men don’t notice the nice features in a woman they find unattractive. (“She’s got such lovely eyes!” I’ll say. “She’s still a shocker,” my husband will reply.)

And that’s why men can’t recognise when a normally plain woman scrubs up beautifully for a special occasion. (“She looks exactly the same,” my husband says. “She’s just got mascara on.”)

Men – heterosexual men, anyway - don’t notice details. They don’t see a couple of extra kilos, or a couple of wrinkles, or bulge around the tummy. They just see hot or not. As my friend J says, “We women notice when someone is looking tired or washed out, but a man is just appreciating her bum and boobs.”

Women will focus on the good features of people we like, and hone in on the bad features of people we don’t. Men, however, aren’t influenced by such piffling considerations as personality. As my husband has said, completely without guilt or irony, “Yes, M is a horrible person. But she’s hot.”

Understanding this about men can be very liberating. Clearly there is no need to expend all that effort on hair products, clothing and makeup. If a man thinks we’re hot, he’ll think we’re hot no matter what we’re wearing or how long our eyelashes are or whether we’ve been on an eating binge for a week. And if he thinks we’re not, then no amount of Pantene or Maybelline or Lemon Detox will change his mind.

Still, it’s not like we can relax and completely let ourselves go. We still have to present ourselves nicely to other women.

Because we women are each other’s worst enemies, and our own and everyone else’s harshest critics.

And let me assure you. We notice everything.