The Alpha Male

I just love men.

I think they are an amazing species.

Mind you, I am only talking about the strong, silent, I’m-your-rock-alpha-male type . . . the I’m-in-touch-with-my-feminine-side / weekly-manicure-and-pedicure type can take the first train outahere as far as I’m concerned. I’ll even spring for half the fare!

No, honestly, I just love real men. They are so wonderfully different. Their build: all square and rough, hair growing in the most peculiar spots, heavy dark sounds from their vocal chords that, when uttered, seem to fill a room. The way they break out in a sweat when doing hard labour in the back yard. .. oh boy, that ignites a spark or two.

Many-a-times, I’ve been known to pour myself another coffee, pull up a chair by the window, and just watch, praying for the shirt to come off…

A good night out is watching real men drink, mates together, pouring jugs of beer down their throats, loud roars of laughter and friendly pats on shoulders, while testosterone just oozes out of their every pore.

But what I love and admire most of all, is their inbred knowledge of fixing things.

Seriously, it must be strongly embedded in their DNA, I am sure if any scientist could extract the correct cell out of that particular string, the rest of us anti-technos could be vaccinated in early adulthood and have an IKEA-proof life ever after.

As the happy partner of an Alpha-Male (AM) original, I get to witness this technical instinct on an almost daily basis and we ain’t talking just changing light bulbs, oh, no.

Car won’t start? He opens the hood, pokes a screwdriver between a few cables and presto, I’m off to work.

Plumbing backed up? Armed and ready, tool belt strapped to the hip, he steps ankle deep into yesterday’s bathwater (probably from our upstairs neighbours) and attacks. Two hours and some heavy cursing later, voila, I can do my dishes again. Truly amazing!

 Now, all women partnered with such an original specimen should be happy and grateful, as I am.

However, sometimes, probably stress induced, this fixing instinct works too fast.

Recently, we needed some electrical rewiring done in our bedroom. My AM jumps up, ready to tackle the problem. As some drilling was involved, and the only working electrical socket was under our bed, he needed an extra extension cord. Frantically I searched through all the cupboards, but no luck. No problem, he assured me. He would just quickly make one. I watched in awe as he worked with bits of wire, screwdrivers and whatsyamacallits for a few minutes and, with a confident wink, crawled under the bed to plug in the new cord.

Two seconds – and a big bang – later the house was powerless. While rambling on in my well known smartypants-way that something must be wrong cause the TV and washing machine went off simultaneously, he slowly emerged from under the bed.

Face flushed, hair straight up, he showed me with trembling hands his home-made extension cord. A two-meter piece of white wire with no sockets, just pretty white plugs . . . on either side. I had to strain my ears a bit as he whispered: “Good thing I tested this, honey, it could have killed you!”

The Alpha-Male – to serve and protect.