I found a terrifying article floating around my newsfeed recently, like …  other things that float unpleasantly. I found the entire article very silly, to put it mildly. So I thought I’d share my take on what makes a girl’s love life joyful: meat. (Original article text quoted)

I don’t want someone who vaguely asks me to hang out without defining what the hell that means.

I don’t want someone who vaguely asks me to hang out without defining how many kilograms of meat we’re going to consume. What kind of wanton hussy do you think I am? Apart from the wonton-guzzling kind, of course.

I want someone who bluntly tells me they want to take me out on a romantic date where we’ll talk about our feelings and then feel each other up.

I want someone who bluntly tells me they want to take me out on a romantic date where we’ll talk about our feelings about pork and then feel up some roast pork. And by “feel up”, I mean eat. What do you mean, that’s not a thing?

I don’t want someone who pretends they don’t give a shit about me to gain the upper hand. I want someone who admits that they can’t stop thinking about me and that they had a naughty dream about me the night before.

I don’t want someone who pretends they don’t give a shit about the last chunk of steak. I want someone who admits that they can’t stop thinking about steak and that they had a naughty dream about steak and me the night before. Or just a naughty dream about steak. I don’t really care, as long as they’re dreaming of steak at some point.

I don’t want someone who hesitates to call me, because of society’s damn three-day rule. I want someone who will text me at any time of day or night, because they can’t stand the thought of being away from me for more than a few hours.

I don’t want someone who hesitates to call me, because sobriety. I want someone who will appear at my home at any time of day or night, because they can’t stand the thought of being away from my whisky collection for more than a few hours.

I don’t want someone who pretends they’re fine when they’re actually pissed off at me. I want someone who will scream at me until we work out the situation and can grow from it.

I don’t want someone who pretends that they’re not hungry when they’re actually ready to eat an entire cow. I want someone who will scream at me if I decide to go vegetarian until my temporary madness ends and we can go eat some roast duck and grow our waistlines together.

I don’t want someone who will laugh at me behind my back, because they’re afraid of being labeled as “whipped.” I want someone who will brag to their friends about the time we went apple picking and then baked a pie in the kitchen, even if it’ll make them seem less manly somehow.

I don’t want someone who will laugh at my ridiculous food costs behind my back, because a well-stocked kitchen is no damn laughing matter. I want someone who will brag to their friends about the time I stalked a sheep farmer so I could get some really, REALLY fresh lamb shank for a house party.

I don’t want someone who will push me away, because they’re scared of being in a real relationship. I want someone who will be open with me about their fears, and agree to work on them alongside me. I don’t want someone who flees the room whenever they get upset. I want someone who will cry on my shoulder, and let me see every tear that drops from their eye.

I don’t want someone who will push me away because they’re scared of being a real carnivore. I want someone who will be open with me about their fears of clogged arteries, and agree to keep eating roast pork with me anyway. I don’t want someone who flees the room whenever they find out that vegans are in the vicinity. I want someone who will make militant vegans cry, while we watch every tear that drops from their eyes.

I don’t want someone who hides their past from me, because they’re scared I’ll judge them. I want someone who will tell me awkward stories about their exes, so I can understand why they have the baggage that they have.

I don’t want someone who hides their vegetarian past from me, because they’re scared I’ll judge them. I mean, obviously I WILL judge them. But I need to know, so I can understand why they took leave of their senses. Also, I need to know so they can sign a vegetarianism breakup agreement.

I don’t want someone who fucks me without letting their gaze leave my chest. I want someone who will look me in the eyes while they thrust and will tell me how much they love me in between moans. I don’t want someone who pretends to be perfect. I want someone who will let me see their flaws, no matter how embarrassed they are over them.

I don’t want someone who ravishes me—sorry, I mean ravishes a pork knuckle without letting their gaze leave my face. Because that’s just disrespectful to the pork knuckle. What kind of animal are you?!

I don’t want someone who uses cliché lines on me that they’ve heard in a million different movies. I want someone who speaks from the heart, even if it comes across as corny or pretentious. I don’t want someone who kisses me in place of telling me they love me. I want someone who says those three little words, even if a group of people are around to hear it.

I don’t want someone who orders cliché cuts of meat that they’ve eaten a million times before. I want someone who orders pig hearts at dinner, even if it comes across as creepy and extremely worrying. I don’t want someone who kisses me when I’m trying to decide what to eat. PRIORITIES, DAMMIT.

I don’t want someone who sends me mixed signals, because they think it’s a necessary part of the dating game. I want someone who tells me how they feel when they’re feeling it, no exceptions. I don’t want someone who just nods along when I tell them about my day. I want someone who enjoys hearing me talk about what’s going on in my life, because they actually give a shit about me.

I don’t want someone who offers me poorly chosen signals—sorry, condiments—because they think it’s part of the dating game. I want someone who tells me what they want to eat, when they want to eat it, no exceptions. Life is too short to dick around with conversations about feelings when you could be eating crab roe instead. So please don’t tell me about your feelings, because ain’t nobody got time for that.

I don’t want someone who pretends that life is all sunshine and roses, even when they’re falling apart. I want someone who exposes me to the darkest parts of their mind, so I can help show them the light again.

I don’t want someone who pretends that life is all goose fat and roast pork belly, even when their world is one long strip of lean chicken breast. I want someone who exposes me to the darkest parts of their larder, so I can show them some handy food organisation tips and lead them into the light of optimal larder space usage.