The other day I was driving home from work, exhausted and hungry and I had a rogue thought.  “I need a man.”  I call this a rogue thought because I am quite at home with singleness and independence. What did I really want? The comforts of home?  A hot meal waiting?  A foot rub?  Something to relax me and take my mind off the day?  Perhaps some  intelligent conversation?  Ah, maybe some affirmation and acknowledgement for all my hard work.

I have a single friend who, growing desperate, has been known to lament, “I just want to be taken care of.”  I discussed this with my cousin, a woman happily married forty years.  We looked at each other askance. No, we do not just want to be taken care of.  We are doers. We like to do things our way.  We love the exhilaration of plotting, planning and executing. 

Truth is, after 40 plus years as an adult, I am very aware that all the comforts save one are readily available for lawful purchase, with or without a man. There is only one that requires a man. Even then, it is doubtful physical intimacy would satisfy while other basic needs remain neglected. 

If I had a man, would there be a hot meal waiting?  A foot rub? Companionship to take away the cares of the day and encourage me?  Some affirmation and acknowledgement of my efforts at the office? Resounding applause? 

Nah!  I don’t need a man.  I need a fan club.