SWF seeks male. Must be emotionally available, secure, dependable, compassionate, loving, attentive, motivated, commitment inclined, affectionate, tender, impetuous, romantic, intelligent, mechanically knowledgeable, loves animals, is tender toward babes (the pre-pubescent variety), says hello to complete strangers, gives his time to the underprivileged, recognizes moments of rapture while they are present, can appreciate an aromatic cup-o-joe, knows the difference between a samba and bossa nova beat, enjoys a good night of spooning, reads poetry in bed, recalls my allergy to garlic, my love of lilies, and my fascination with dusty old books, is not phased when asked to hold a woman's purse in public, has a diverse culinary pallet, appreciates Madama Butterfly, relishes Cinema Paridiso, and understands Sartre.

SM seeks female with stunning face, amazing bod, who knows how to have a good time. Oh and please, high-maintenance women need not apply!

Standing behind two twenty-something year old men in the check-out line at the grocery store last night, minding my own business (despite the fact that it may have appeared my ear was pressed against their lips), I overheard one phrase which has in turn induced 1200 words of debate on a particular subject. "High-maintenance women suck!" Standing behind them with my Mega Lash mascara, cherry flavored lip-gloss, super shine hair conditioning plasma, and strawberry scented nail polish remover, I realized that by all accounts they could have been talking about me. But were they really? What in fact pushes a person into that high-maintenance category -- and is the polar opposite simply a person without wants or needs, who makes do with the chopped liver placed before her when she's really craving a juicy filet mignon?

There are six billion people on this planet and I have no qualms in telling you that when it comes to relationships and finding that golden pea in the pod di amore, I find most of them pretty damned unsatisfactory. I mean, most chew with their mouths open, talk with them full, saw logs when they sleep, misspell words, forget to put the toilet seat down, and can't understand why I don't appreciate their screams of passion…uh hum, when aimed at the television set during a basketball match.

Vocalizing certain dislikes in a vehement pre-relational conversation with a potential suitor makes me high-maintenance, does it? The fact that I am made happy by certain qualities and thus aim to find them in a companion must make me very hard please. Take note that my list above didn't call for a Clooney or Pitt look-a-like. It did not say: please sign your name to this blank check made out to me, it didn't demand adventures in Cairo, moonlit strolls on the sands of Bali, furs to drape myself in, and jewels to make my naked hands gleam and glitter. No, it didn't. It didn't say that I wear 15 coats of eye goo, line, fill, and lacquer my lips, and wear stilettos to the most inappropriate of places. Nevertheless, my emotional and intellectual wants and the fact that I have no trouble vocalizing them has become to every scorned male reason to put me on the list of high-maintenance chicks they once adored for being so independent and decisive, but now abhor because those wants have thus eliminated they themselves from my list.

I admit that sometimes high-maintenance does extend itself into the realm of the powder room wherein you must wait anywhere from a couple of minutes to a couple of hours for her to reappear in all her splendor. Having noted this, please revert to the above mentioned single male seeker above, who can be found on any number of the thousands of personal ads that populate the newspapers and websites in this or any other country for that matter, and tell me just how one acquires a female with a stunning face and amazing bod? Doesn't it require some extra effort and an above and beyond the norm maintenance routine to acquire?

I just feel that high-maintenance women have gained a bum rap, and I dare say most men would take that pretty package who walks resplendent, head held high, spouting her likes without being pried open to reveal them, over that dreary lump of clay in need of molding, any day.

Is there such a thing as a high-maintenance man and if so, where is he hiding? Why isn't he enduring the grief over his list, written or not, of must have qualities in a mate? What about those two irksome creatures in the grocery store? Now I bet if they were to stop a second and describe their dream girl, she wouldn't in anyway resemble something that requires a crowbar to relinquish thoughts, a hand to instill movement, and the Elizabeth Arden Super Deluxe Image Overhaul to look presentable. I think you men's dirty little secret is that while your surface may squawk about the utter horror that comes in landing a high-maintenance woman, your core yearns for one.

A high-maintenance gal doesn't want a sugar daddy, she doesn't need to be fed pearls over poesies, diamonds over dandelions, or rubies over roses. There isn't a dollar sign stapled to her lapel. Yes, a high-maintenance woman WANTS. She requires that you keep up your end of the bargain. She requires that she's getting just what you made yourself out to be when you were in that goo goo courting stage. You remember, that was the stage wherein you found her perfectly spiraled, golden streaked hair, and sun kissed skin, not to mention those pouty red lips and sex blushed cheeks so completely intoxicating that there was no way you were going to ever let her escape your clutches. Perhaps it was that discussion over your lapse in poetic prose. Um, weren't you a poet when you two met? There's also that sudden fascination of yours with The Osbournes, The Man Show, and Survivor, not to mention The Real World Marathon. But wait, wasn't it you who bought that "shoot your television" sticker on our first date rendezvous to Berkeley, and then went on for hours about the way t.v. rots the brains of unsuspecting youth?

It's only when we become hard to please because you feel that you have to go out of your way to be that person you once were, that we become high-maintenance. No, I'm not blaming you. I want you to admit that for all your supermarket ranting and raving done whilst you undressed this months Cosmo cover girl with your eyes (yes, I noticed), you wouldn't want us any other way.