Boss Radio

Gosh, I'm just so surprised. The fashion industry has decided not to force it's members to drop size zero models, but instead to ask them to adhere to a non-binding agreement that they won't use girls who aren't naturally skinny. That'll work of course because businesses have a very good history of adhering to none binding agreements, and impressionable young ladies will look at these naturally stick like beings and think to themselves "Oh well, she's just born like that, no need for me to starve myself into a shunken old prune in a pointless effort to get myself down to that size".

Or not.

My sister has her own theory about these models that you can't see if they stand sideways. She says clothes designers are all gay and they're actually designing clothes for young boys. My mum, who used to work in the biz, or at least, on it's extemities, balks a little at that, although she accepts that some of them did seem a little gay now you come to mention it. Me, I wouldn't know. I'd like to say that I have several gay friends but alas I have no way of knowing, just as I don't know the religion of all my friends (I can just about tell the black ones from the white ones though, I'm not completely out of it).

What I do know is that I'm a bloke. According to the rules of nature I'm supposed to dress to impress girls, and they're supposed to do the same, this, apparently, is how we get to procreate. Just like the birds and the bees. I also know that I don't like girls who look like stick-insects. I like boobies. And legs. I like boobies and legs. Some guys it would seem like big butts. I have nothing against big butts (The occasional frottage aside...), but I tend to look elsewhere when surveying a future procreational partner. I look for the boobies, then maybe the legs. Alright, the legs as well. In return I hope the young lady in question is admiring my manly physique and general resemblance to Clint Eastwood (This only works when I wear my corrective shirt), also the hypnotically rhythmic way in which my legs thrash in time with the music when I take a guitar solo.

When sharing notes (No pun intended) with my fellow blokes it seems that we are remarkably in concurrence. The ideal body shape is the one possessed by Marilyn Monroe when she managed the female Holy grail of 36-24-36. Jayne Mansfield was OK, as was Jayne Russell, no one complains about getting too much of a good thing, but Monroe is still, after all these years, the ideal.

Meanwhile back in the real world, no one is 36-24-36 without having to misuse their body almost as badly as the dimwits who starve themselves down to size 0, so after sobering up (Well, not me ladies, I don't drink. Now you fancy me, don't you?) we agree that as long as a girl has legs and boobies (And in some cases a butt), then that's good enough. To be honest, most of us have no idea what we find attractive about the opposite sex. According to a BBC questionaire I'm exceedingly unusual in genuinely liking funny girls. It's not just a GSOH to me, I like girls that can make me laugh faster than I can make them laugh, and when you consider that all I have to do to achieve this Nirvana is to take my shirt off... Well I leave it to your imagination...

Of course, there's a problem, even there. It's my sense of humour. I just don't go for vicars telling knob jokes, so that's Dawn French-alikes out of the window, in fact I don't like sexual organ jokes in general, so that's Jennifer Saunders gone too. I'm not so wild about better musicians than me either, so I guess Victoria Wood is heading for the door. I'm turning into Simon Cowell here. There must be someone...

Rita Rudner. She's nice, got just the right sensahumour and rich into the bargain. I think I could settle down and live happily ever after with Rita Ruddner.

If only she had bigger boobs...