Panick-stricken Picket Fence Syndrome

Saturday, 18.00pm
Being a girl is hard. When girls were born, they are sadly not handed an instruction manual on how to handle their up and coming hormones and emotions, and unfortunately don’t come with a disclaimer for the boys who put up with the girls who need the instruction manual on how to handle said hormones and emotions.
I have a theory I would like to share with you. I have even labelled this theory, its called the Panick Stricken Picket Fence Syndrome:
Girl meets boy, boy smiles at girl, girl hands out phone number, boy saves it as ‘chic with big tits/tight ass/winner pins @ Soandso’s Pub’, girl expects call, boy texts her when bored and horny one week later, girl dresses to the nines, boy throws on a decent shirt without holes, she goes to a romantic dinner, he puts down a deposit on future fornication by paying, she falls off her feet, he thinks she might be a good lay, she expects flowers, he expects head, her heart flutters, his pants get tight, they go home together. He wakes up hungry, she wakes up dreaming of a pretty little prairie house with green gardens that their two kids (Janie and Benjamin) can play on with their puppy (Rover) who has a cute green flea collar with a glittery bell on so they can hear him when he chases their cat (Mr. Puffelpoof) into the bushes. Their childrens bedrooms will be kitted out in Spiderman for the boy and Disney princesses for the girl, they will own a family station wagon which will be parked in the garage also known as his make shift workshop to keep him amused while his mates are all doing ‘bachelorhood’ on a Friday night, she will grow a gorgeous garden complete with, you guessed it: a perfect little white picket fence.
And now for the Panick-stricken part of this theory:
The minute he drops her off at home, she goes into preening mode, plucking vagrant hairs, shaving armpits, creaming moist skin, torturing herself about the tone of her muscles – god help her if he saw that last night – painting nails (doing two coats more than usual) and soaking her tired and sore body in a hot bubble bath to sooth her aching muscles from the night before. All in preperation to sit in the house right near the mobilephone. every fifteen minutes she dials a girlfriend, just to make sure the line is still working, but puts the friend on hold the second she hears a beep through the speaker thinking it might be HIS incoming call only to find out its the built in fucking minute timer.
Two days later, while she has been starving herself (for their next dinner date, of course) he is out pissing it up with the boys hitting on random girls who he smiles at, he gets their number, saves it as ‘bird with bouncy boobs/nipple stand @ Country club’ yadayadayada…
My theory is that this syndrome is far too fucking common in girls. All my mates have had it. The only cure seems to be marriage and growing humans that pop out nine months later. Earlier today, coffee with a friend revealed that yes, in fact, girls still are like this. She hasn’t heard from the dude in over a month, yet she still hopes. You wanna hear my hopes? I hope to hell and back that I do not do this again. Maybe not to the extreme above, but I know that if a seed has been planted in a girls head, its only natural instict that she will water it and make it grow. I HAVE had Panic-stricken Picket Fence Syndrome, and holy shit on toast, it SUCKS ASS!

I mean REALLY, is it even fucking worth it if or when you finally do get the Picket Fence?