Guilty pleasures. Those things you enjoy in private and don’t like to admit in public. We all have them and they’re mostly completely acceptable. Unless it’s Justin Bieber’s music. I will cut you off for that kind of reckless shit.

One of my guilty pleasures – reality TV. That’s not the scandalous part. It becomes scandalous when I admit that I like watching dating game shows. I spend endless hours watching desperate straight people selling themselves off to other desperate straight people. Gay people don’t participate in dating shows – we don’t have a lot of trouble hooking up. Mostly because escaping from a lesbian relationship is somewhat like Hotel California: You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. You can get out of the relationship, but you’ll most likely see her at every single gathering, so you have no choice but to remain friends (sort of). After a few drinks, the reason you left her sorry ass doesn’t really seem all that valid anymore. Besides, it’s such hard work – dating. So, we don’t mind taking a second dip in the lesbo pond of failed relationships. Or a third. So no, we are not evolved like that, we are just very lazy. Either way, gay people don’t participate in dating game shows, so I’m stuck with the straights. It’s not that bad really – I just close my eyes when they start getting frisky.

So, I watch The Bachelorette. I also watch The Batchelor. And when I’m really desperate I even watch the Afrikaans version of desperation: Boer soek n vrou. Judge me all you want, but I know there’s a few Britney Spears fans on my friend list. Don’t make me out you.

There’s a lot to be learned on these shows people. Firstly, it teaches you that if you are over the age of 22 and still single you are probably ugly or damaged goods. It’s also entirely possible for you to be both. If you haven’t managed to keep at least one person interested for longer than 5 minutes, you are just not interesting. I am not saying that you should stop trying, I’m just saying that you should probably accept that you’re more likely to get hit by a bus than finding a partner. There’s no shame in that. Mother Teresa did fine on her own. So will you and your 112 cats, darling.

It teaches you all about realistic expectations – how not to have them. Let’s face it – none of these contestants are being real. They all want the same thing. The females (and possibly secretly some of the males) want that one guy. You know? The one that is sensitive, but strong. The one that is intellectual, but down to earth. The one that want’s children, but also wants you just to himself. The one that is romantic, but not to the point where he holds the door for you. The one that knows exactly what you’re thinking and loves long talks about your future together. The one that doesn’t exist.

The males all want the same thing. They want the skinny, but big breasted blonde. The one that acts like an angel in public, but like the devil in bed. The one that prefers rugby over shopping and meat over salad. The one that doesn’t want kids and doesn’t expect you to know exactly what she’s thinking. The one that hates long talks about the future you don’t have together. The one that doesn’t exist.

Now people wonder why none of these couples actually make it work. Unfortunately, it doesn’t just apply to the poor souls who pull out the big guns and turn to live television out of pure desperation. We see it every day. If you ask single people to describe their ideal partner in 30 words or less, they can dream up a list of prerequisites longer than the stretch of border that Trump envisions to fence off for the Mexicans. The point is that your Mr or Mrs Right does not exist.

Oh, you’ll get these annoying couples who will tell you that their partner is everything they envisioned. They are also the same people who have joint Facebook accounts – I’m just saying. They clearly can’t be trusted. The truth of the matter is, the perfect partner doesn’t exist.

I envisioned my ideal partner too. She would have long dark hair and 36 C’s. I did get a set of spectacular 36 C’s, by the way. My ideal partner would play at least one musical instrument and she would want to have children and get married. She would love travelling and she would be some powerful attorney or something cute in a power suit.

Today I have a partner. She has short blonde hair and the spectacular 36 C’s I mentioned earlier. We own a total of four guitars and one keyboard, but we can’t actually play anything other than Scrabble. She is no powerful attorney, but a soft-spoken gem with a marshmallow for a heart. She will travel once in a while, but she prefers being with me at the home we built together. I do want to convince her to wear the power suits for me in private. Maybe just the pants. Or maybe just the shirt. Maybe just the tie. I will look into it folks.

I made a list and the universe balled it up in her fist and chucked it over her shoulder. Life doesn’t work like that.

If you want a funny feeling in your tummy, I suggest you have three tequilas on an empty stomach (or you could go to a certain bachelorette party and try to outdrink the craziest person there, pretending that Vodka does not make you vomit). If you want someone to turn your life upside down, I have the numbers of two possibly certifiable ex-girlfriends that can help you out with that.

The problem with making a list of have-to-haves when you envision a partner is that you always remember to ask for the perfect body and beautiful eyes or hands or whatever gets you going. You hardly ever remember to ask for a beautiful soul or a soft place to land. You never remember to ask for a companion that truly understands you; someone that has seen the darkest parts of you, but still wants to be with you.

I had a list. What I have now in my life partner is so much better than the list. The universe looked at my list and felt that I deserved better.

If you want a real partner that will share your life and make every moment count, tear up your wish list and get real.

Besides, it’s not like you are the perfect catch, you Justin Bieber-Britney Spears-loving-maniac.

Now I should go.

There’s a busty blonde with a tie I have to see to…..