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Give me a Mick Jagger

Poor old George. The fairer sex had always been a mystery to him for as long as he could remember. It had been bad enough for him through puberty, adolescence, his teens and twenties and wasn't getting any better in his thirties. Now there seemed to be a new breed of women designed specifically to baffle him even more. Women that spent a fortune pumping Christ knows what into their lips to make them look worse than they did before. No wonder the cosmetics industry is worth billions annually. He often wondered, did they take photos of a young Mick Jagger into beauty salons and say I want lips just like his? Sensibly he did at least keep those thoughts to himself. 

Supposedly there were three words women longed to hear but at some point they got transposed from I Love you to I'm really sorry. Why not just choose someone that would love you and respect you? Wouldn't that just be easier? Someone like George he reasoned to himself and you can't blame the working out on his mathematics, it's just he's sitting the wrong paper.

He'd tried to give his heart away to Melody but she had no use for it. Well that wasn't strictly true. Over the years she had used it as an ashtray, access to free money and as a doormat amongst other things. Instead of the love George could have given her she chose James and as far as George was concerned, James was a scab. A scab that Melody had to keep picking at no matter how much blood was spilled. Everyone knows that if you leave a scab alone that it heals. Everyone it appeared apart from Melody. James was her drug of choice, her itch that she couldn't stop scratching. James was a cancer that ate away at her and couldn't be removed, not that she gave any inclination of wanting to get better and be shot of him once and for all. Like all addicts there comes some sense of realisation that what you're doing isn't good for you but you carry on regardless whilst there's still some semblance of a high. Maybe one day she'll undergo a factory reset having heard those empty and meaningless apologies and promises of I'm really sorry, I promise I will change one too many times. A leopard never changes its spots. George knew that from watching David Attenborough documentaries at about the age of 5. If James was a leopard what did that make him? Probably the cartoon Chimpanzee of the same name sat at home fiddling with his banana on his own. 

There are many laws that need to be abolished, updated or introduced for the benefit of females and they should really be referred to as the un-fairer sex if truth be told. Men will always have it so much easier, that's not up for debate. Yet there should be an extra law just for men like George, it should be made illegal to be forever parked in the friend zone by a woman who is acutely aware that the man is in love with her and especially if he convinces himself he's fine with that. At least Melody gets a form of apology even if the words are as empty as an alcoholics vodka bottle come the end of the night. 

Say she does beat her James addiction, she'll just find a similar substitute. Heroin addicts swap out for methadone which is actually harder to get off than the heroin was. George will never be methadone, George is as much use as a prayer to an atheist if that situation ever comes to fruition. Maybe George will get lucky one day, maybe he'll wake up to find Melody has been to the salon and he decides he doesn't want Mick's lips around his banana. Maybe he'll figure out that Melody is his scab and that he will heel if he just leaves her alone. 

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