Her Perfect Day

You’ve probably seen a list floating around the Interweb about one man’s perfect day. If not, I’ll sum it up for you: lots of blow jobs, boobs, beer, and golf. Shocking, right? Well, I’d be more interested in the perfect day for ladies, and whether my services could fit any items on the schedule.

Let’s see if I can draw some parallels.

His day begins with a 6:15 am hummer. I’m sure there are those who wouldn’t mind a first-thing licking, but I’m betting most ladies would opt for a foot rub and breakfast. If he would sneak out of bed, go downstairs, and let out that obnoxious morning fart silently while bagging the kids’ lunches, the morning would be even perfect-er.

Number two on the man’s list involves number two, on the throne with his sports section. (We’re damn beasts, I tell ya.) Preferable for the ladies would be their personal blow-out specialist making a house call. A scalp massage, root touch up, and spiral curls make her gleeful.

Next for him is a bacon-fest breakfast, prepared by a half-naked harlot with ham-sized hooters. Now, as interesting as it would be to find Coop in her kitchen tossing spinach and egg whites while wearing only an apron, I’m sure she’d settle for a clear counter, a full pot of coffee, and her man not wearing pajamas, or that over-worn, pit-stained undershirt.

His perfect day continues with a limo stocked with beer taking him to private plane stocked with beer, taking him to the Bahamas to play golf while riding hole to hole in a cart stocked with beer. My guess is most women would modify this silliness, except for the transportation. The limo would be stocked with mimosas, as would the private jet, which would fly her to a high-fashion event, followed by VIP shopping for fancy French bags and shoes galore with her group of besties, while being served mimosas by handsome European studs in suits.

The next event for men involves the athletic and highly strenuous event: fishing. This wouldn’t make the top thousand on the ladies’ list. Perhaps, a personal training session followed by a massage and facial is better. The fitness instructor should have shapely arms and abs visible through his Lululemon top. He must feature a gentle musk scent, blue eyes, high wavy hair, and a five o’clock shadow. The masseur must be flamboyantly gay, and well-versed in celebrity gossip. He must serve chilled cucumber mint water while applying the facial, and directing four Asian artists in applying proper nail finishes.

The man’s next event involves steak, lobster, and lesbians, who somehow find it enjoyable to perform in front of men. Ladies would opt for something healthier, prepared by a private chef, who need not be skewering another man while cooking.

Finally, the man’s night concludes with a blow job, 20-second multi-tonal fart, and solemn slumber. As difficult as it is to draw parallels here, I’ll guess her night would conclude with a romance novel and a right-sized penis that doesn’t come with the annoying attachment: him.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.
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