How to make every man want you (or not as the case maybe)

No I haven’t just gone mad. That sounds like my personal idea of hell at the moment. My head and heart would question my sanity and yell at me for a long time. No this is a book by Marie Forleo called ‘Make every man want you’ that one of Ruth’s friends had sitting on the side at dinner the other night and I have since been reading. My immediate thought was Ms Forleo should write a part 2 called ‘How to recognise and avoid the arseholes that you attract having made every man want you’ because we don’t want every man. We just want that one that will make us happy.

The book isn’t of course about making every man want you though, but about uncovering personal glow or as she calls it ‘irresistibility’ and being comfortable in that. Knowing you are worth it in short. Personal glow was something I used to have in abundance. My nickname is ‘Gloworm’ for goodness sake. Recently though the trust in the Glow, especially the power of it, has been tested. I am not so much hiding my light under a bushel at the moment as burying it beneath a mountain.

The techniques Ms Forleo offers are neither rocket science or new. But the way she tells it makes it fresh to my current way of thinking and returns me to what I already knew to be true, but had temporarily forgotten. Whether I am ready to hear it however remains to be seen.

I was thinking about this in the spa today. Auckland’s temperatures were plummeting and I went for a swim and a warm-up in the sauna and steam room. I was sitting in the empty steam room thinking about the book and about whether I want to make men want me, let alone everyone and whether it’s about trusting that you have glow on the inside and letting it shine on the outside and that you are really are a glorious, beautiful, wonderful woman if you just accept and trust and know it. I was thinking about this as I stepped into the fog of the room that prevented me from seeing more than a foot in front of my face (which is hampered even more by my short sight that is of the level that if Gordon Ramsey were to stand in front of me I would say his skin looked like silk). I was thinking about this as the beans and broccoli I had for lunch made their presence known in my stomach and I was thinking about this when their presence converted to loud, uncontrollable, fabric and bum skin flapping fart. Fortunately it was smell free.

I was still thinking about this when the men I hadn’t seen at the rear of the steam room got up and walked out. I emptied the room. Of men. The irony wasn’t lost on me. It seems my body doesn’t want to make any man want me just yet.

I told Dale, my Aussie mate that I am staying with, this story and he said,

‘I take it this wasn’t in Australia?’

‘Why?’

‘Well because in Australia the guys would have gone ‘WA-HAY! Good on ya girl!’

To get a date here in Australia it seems I must brew up some crowd-clearing/pleasing beauties. Having Glow it seems isn’t enough because Glow is only a foot in the door. After that there are extra culturally specific things to take in to consideration. Like eating lots and lots and lots of beans in Australia.