I Want Gordon Ramsay to Yell at Me

Yup, sure do. I want him to put me in my place…but not like you think.

When you are a strong, self-assured, and opinionated lady with a knack for laying down the cranky like an expert DJ layin’ down sweet tracks, you’re in a world alone. Not to say I’m always a snot, but even on my best days I’m still a pistol. A lot of people appreciate that and even find it enviable, but it hits the dating scene like kryptonite.

I have been single for a long while now, and it’s a shitshow. In the happenstance I actually find someone who can muster up the strength to just return a text, they’re not ready for the likes of me. We live in a world where the idea of a strong woman is a turn-on, but when faced with one in reality these guys are wee babes in the danger zone; they just can’t hang. Which is really a pity, because behind most gruff exteriors are hearts as soft and sweet as a puppy’s ear.

Tender hearts aside I want this Michelin-starred Chef, this saucy British biscuit (hooray for puns!), to be his fierce and mad about undercooked-fish, self with me. (I don’t even care if he calls me a donkey, because let’s face it-how is that an insult?) It helps that I personally find him attractive, but the presence of an actual man is quite powerful. (I think that is also part of my physical attraction to him as well.) While most of the time I’m pretty even keel, I do have a sharp wit, a trucker’s mouth, and enjoy quite a lot of things that the Politically Correct Police would wear their sirens out with. And sometimes, when stress is high and I’m being a total D-Bag, I need someone to tell me so, and be able to calmly drench the fire as well. Because being strong isn’t always hand-to-glove with being mean or heartless, just so you know.

Don’t misunderstand me; I don’t want to be screamed at because I accidentally drop something, or forget to unload the dishwasher. And I don’t need someone who wants to go toe to toe with me all the time like a Tyson/Holyfield fight. That would be teeth to ear, anyway, but you get what I mean. I’m just so sick of any time I call someone out on their unnecessary crap, don’t wilt at the first sign of trouble, or am tough to handle in any way, I’m deemed “crazy,” and find myself abandoned.

A man of power also is a protector, which I find simply intoxicating. I may be able to handle a lot, change a flat tire, and lift some furniture, but I’m still a woman. I don’t want to hear a noise in the middle of the night and boyfriend pulls covers to chin, eyes wide, while he watches me get up to check it out. I don’t want someone to insult me, and my guy just sits there unmoved like a flag in a windless ballpark. (I’m not recommending violence, but a little bit of a puffed chest would be nice.) And I definitely don’t want to come home to catch my man baking a bunt cake, and asking if he can go to girls’ night. But that’s just me.

The point, I’m taking the scenic route to make here, is a powerful woman is a diamond in the rough; and just like the multi-faceted and brilliant precious stone, is first seen as an unassuming piece of coal. Coal kept the Titanic purring like a kitten (until that whole iceberg situation), and should never be disregarded as something not worth having; exactly like us feisty chicks. Only the equally strong, who aren’t afraid to step on fragile toes and hurt dainty feelings if needed, can appreciate us, revere us, and love us.

And that’s why I am single until I find my own Gordon Ramsay. And if I ever do, he could even go to girls’ night and bake a bunt cake, if he wanted to. ;)