What I Know About Women: Tim Minchin
I’m A ladies’ man, no question. Not in the Russell Brand kind of way, quite the contrary in fact. But I love women; always have.
I like warm, laughing, open women because they hug me and I like that because their skin is soft and they have boobs. I like cold, aloof women who are hard to impress because it’s so satisfying when they smile, eventually. I like little petite women because unlike little petite men, they tend to be totally happy in their littleness.
I like big curvy women because, well, because they’re curvy and big and for some reason such geometry seems correlated (dare I say) with ease of laughter and sharpness of wit.
I like really old women because they were nurses in wars and you think they are all pruney and conservative but then they call someone a f***ing idiot for changing lanes without indicating. I like female lawyers because they wear suits and know how to argue. Nice.
I like women who dress up in heels and illogically short dresses and lots of make-up, because why not? I like women who refuse to wear make-up and refuse to shave their legs and only ever wear jeans. There were a lot more of them in the 90s. Where did they go? They’re probably the lawyers in suits now.
I like women who want to be looked after and I like women who want to look after you. I like straight women and gay women. I like bi-curious women.
I think I quite fancy Japanese women, but that’s ridiculous because there are loads of them and so statistically some of them would be really annoying and have no sense of humour.
I don’t find women mysterious the way blokes always claim to. Or rather, I find them mysterious, but sort of figure-outable.
I think I like women because I grew up surrounded by the bloody things: a mother who told it as she saw it, who laughed at funny stuff and fought annoying stuff and freaked out at scary stuff; smart, funny sisters who looked up to me and hounded me and laughed and laughed and laughed; cousins who played music and wore bikinis and looked beautiful in ball dresses; grandmothers who danced comically and taught me tapestry; aunts with critical eyes and sparkling eyes and folk bands; a godmother with envelopes of $20 bills and buckets of silliness.
And then the girlfriends, of which I’ve only had two. Number one was my first love, my uni-crush, my virginity-taker, my KFC-and-videos-when-we-should-be-at-lect
The second was an injured dancer turned lawyer – who taught me to love jazz and women in suits; the one who taught me there might be love beyond first love.
The third was the first one again, who proved – in the end – that for me there was to be no getting over the first love. At the end of next year, we will have been together half our lives – pretty rare for 33-year-olds these days.
Maybe more than anything else, I probably love women because they’ve always been nice to me. Which is nice of them.
Now I’ve got a new woman. She wakes me at night and I go into her room grumpy and tired but glad for the opportunity to see her. She’s a mystery to me, but I’ll figure her out