There are some questions that always prop up when a group of young girls gets together. Who is your kind of man? What qualities do you look for in a guy ?
The answers are often as hackneyed as the questions. A sense of humour is always touted as a desirable quality. And everyone wants an educated, even ambitious man through only few of this look for a rich man only. I guess all of us starts with a mental checklist against which we judge any potential mates. It is another matter that this checklist is the first thing to go out of the window when the true love strikes.Once you have fallen in love, even the most unsuitable of creatures begin to look like your ideal man. And no matter what he is? or how he is?

But then, that is love for you. It has knack of the turning the world on its head. It has a way of making everything you since believed in seem futile and foolish.

Perhaps that is why I have never wanted to define- now even in my head-who my kind of man would be. At some subliminal level I guess I always, believed that when I met him, I would know.

It all began as things tend to do in school. It didn’t take me long to realise that I wasn’t really cut out for sport and rough housing of any kind.

As I grew older, this test was further refined. Anyone who dissed georgette heyer as just another romance writer was of my radar in less time than it took to say beau brummel, all those who regarded.

Books are just the beginning. The tests of incipient friendship extend far beyond them. Take bread, for instance. No, I meant that. Take bread. Go on, take it.

What? You don’t eat bread? Or crabs of any kind, except on the weekend? Oh well, it was nice, knowing you, but this kind of abstention spells goodbye in my book.

In fact, truth be told, food can be minefield littered with the corpses of would be friends. You want to share a salad? A salad? Seriously?

Okay you got me. I like a woman who enjoys her high calorie-treats, who doesn’t shy away from a bite of pasta or a slice of pizza. I like a woman who has an appetite and is not afraid of feed it.

And then, there are those women whom I know I would simply never get along with in a million years even if they shared my reading lists and my love for a perfectly crisp French fry. There are some of categories that come to mind.

The kind of women who high heels on long haul fights. You see them at airports all the time, teetering on laughably high stilettos. Woman who are rude to waiters. Through to be fair this one applied to men always. Women who treat their domestic staff badly. It doesn’t matter how beautifully you performed in company if you go back and terrorise your house help.