It's Got to Be Perfect: the memoirs of a modern-day matchmaker Read Online Free Page B

down next to him on the sofa. ‘And he was half my height. Like he wasn’t going to be found out?’
    ‘Maybe he was planning to win you over with his personality?’
    ‘Indeed. Now, was it the tales of childhood animal torture? Or perhaps the moment he almost stabbed the waitress with his fork? I just can’t decide which indicator of mental instability actually won me over.’ I wriggled out of my coat and then threw it on the floor. ‘No more internet dates. I’m done.’
    He passed me an overfilled glass of wine and I took a large glug.
    ‘Where are all the good men?’ I asked, and then stared helplessly up at the ceiling.
    He chuckled. ‘Please, no. Not Bonnie Tyler.’
    I laughed. ‘I don’t need a hero, just a decent guy.’
    ‘And what, pray tell, is a decent guy?’
    ‘One who doesn’t have nasal hair, a porn addiction or a personality disorder.’
    He laughed. ‘No nasal hair? That would be a tricky one.’
    ‘You know what I mean, tufts sprouting out of nostrils. Or one nostril even, that was weird.’
    He laughed.
    ‘What? What’s so funny?’
    ‘Do you know that every time you come back from a date, you’ve added something else to your tick list?’
    He picked up a pen and notebook from the coffee table in front of him. ‘Symmetrical nasal hair,’ he said, pretending to write.
    I heard a strange groan. A quick glance at the TV implied that either it came from me or a horny hippopotamus.
    ‘But I have to discriminate somehow. I mean, look at my choices so far. It couldn’t really get any worse, could it?’
    ‘The male attracts the female by using his tail to spray her with faeces,’ David Attenborough announced.
    Matthew raised his eyebrows at the disturbing image on the screen. ‘See. It could always get worse,’ he said and flipped his legs up onto the sofa. ‘So, where were we? Yes, your tick list. When we met, you must have been, what, fifteen?’
    I nodded and took another gulp of wine.
    ‘Well, back then, you said that the only thing you looked for in a boyfriend was a cute smile.’
    I laughed.
    ‘Then,’ he continued, adopting a bizarre cover-girl-like pose, ‘after a month or so, your requirements had progressed to a boy with cute smile and a car.’
    I could see where he was going with this.
    ‘And now, let me think, what are your requirements now?’ He moved his hand over his mouth in a dramatic shock gesture and before I had a chance to answer, he continued. ‘He has to be aged between thirty and thirty-five (preferably thirty-three), over six foot tall, good-looking, successful, independently wealthy, fit and sporty, confident (not arrogant), intelligent, interesting, well-educated and have a great sense of humour.’
    ‘Well…’
    He put his hand up in a flamboyant stop sign, ‘I haven’t finished yet. In addition to that, he also has to be sensitive yet masculine, affectionate and attentive, but not clingy. He must think you’re the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, cherish you for eternity and have manly hands.’
    I tried to speak, but Matthew rattled on.
    ‘And now, since your recent bout of internet dating, you’re discounting men for the most trivial of things.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Tapered jeans.’
    ‘Trivial?’
    ‘Deck shoes.’
    I screwed up my face
    ‘Triangular shoulders.’
    ‘Bad.’
    ‘Skinny calves.’
    ‘Yuk.’
    ‘Lumberjack shirt.’
    ‘Seriously?’
    ‘Flat bottom.’
    ‘Eew.’
    ‘Furry neck.’
    ‘Nasty.’
    ‘Whiny voice.’
    ‘Worse.’
    ‘Pointy fingernails. Head like a grape. Hyena laugh. Upside-down eyebrows. And what about the guy with the goatee?’
    ‘He looked like a gnome.’
    ‘He could have shaved it off.’
    ‘That’s not the point. He chose to grow it in the first place. I couldn’t trust a man with such bad judgment.’
    He sighed and lifted his arms above his head.
    ‘Don’t you think I deserve to meet a great guy?’
    ‘Well,’ he said planting his feet on the carpet, as though reverting