So a few weeks ago while relaxing with some friends, I was asked to consider talking some sense into a dead beat dad – who for all intents and purposes, had left a poor girl at the traffic lights, literally holding the baby.

I guess I was only asked when it turned out that I actually went to high school with the said dead beat dad. You’ll be surprised how 6 degrees of separation can make the world smaller than it really seems.

I think we were talking about how kids change people’s lives – and one conversation too many ended up with the story of my former schoolmate. The said girl abandoned at the traffic lights is his ex-missus, so you can just picture where this conversation went short of wishing that she had actually been with us at the time.

I’ll plead the 5th amendment right here on going into the specific story of this couple for the simple reason that there’s a very high possibility that they will be directed to read this post.

I don’t consider myself a marriage counsellor, but for what it’s worth, I thought that this once, I’d provide a public service based on my experience and that of my peers. If it helps even one girl to make better choices in men – or convinces even one other guy to take care of responsibilities, then the post is most definitely worth my time.

It’s certainly easier than sitting down to talk sense to – you know who.

Girls, here’s 5 Stone Cold sure fire ways to identify a dead beat dad from a mile off.

1. Follow your instincts

God gave you instinct to protect you from the evil in this world. Use the damn instincts and save yourself from the world.

The best advice you can ever get is not to get yourself into certain situations especially when all your faculties are telling you that it’s plain madness. Your body is wired to be selective and to use any stimuli it can to detect what is inherently dangerous for you.

You have signs all over that only you choose to ignore – habits, what he says, what he does, the choices he makes, the risks he takes – even his scent gives you an indication about how dangerous the proposition is.

Let’s get one thing out of the way – you’re not going to totally avoid danger. There’s no such thing as zero risk. Everything you do is risky.

Even for a guy, looking at a girl’s ass is risky because it presents options not previously available. For a girl, the risks are different. I’m just saying listen to your instincts and minimize that risk.

2. Follow your instincts again (ground hog day, huh?)

Of course we live in a world where warm blooded males and females have raging sexual hormones so it’s inevitable that you’re going to get laid.

Having made that choice, you still need to exercise a level of ruthlessness that will put Jack Bauer to shame.

Simply put – unless you’re totally convinced that the man you’re shagging is material for being a decent father – never let him anywhere near an ejaculation. It’s his right to blow his load, but it doesn’t have to be inside you.

There’s a very big difference between boys that you want to get jiggy with and satisfy your sexual desires, and daddy material. For the former, you can pick up any rough neck from wherever.

But unless you’re sure the dude is made of daddy stuff – bullet proof yourself from conception even if you have to use a cocktail of birth control methods at the same time.

My point here is that the choice of who you have unprotected sex with is not for legislation. Just make sure if anything goes wrong, he’s someone who you can take home to your parents with a modicum of self respect and explain yourself.

3. Love is over-rated

When it comes to bringing up kids, there’s absolutely no place for romance. Your relationship with your man has little or nothing to do with the day to day responsibilities of raising and caring for a child.

It’s a full time job 24-7. Contrary to folklore – love will not conquer.

Bringing up children will test you in all the ways you can think of. It will make you scream, it will make you cry, it will make you curse. They focus on the fact that it’ll make you happy and provide you with something to live for yada yada yada.

Let’s get one thing straight – even your mother can’t prepare you for the drama your children will unleash on you. You’re mother has already had her share with you and your siblings and if anything, she’ll be laughing because of all them times you gave her grief.

There’s a lot you can already tell about how your man will cope with the responsibilities of bringing up a child. Does he have selfish habits? Does he still think you can both go gallivanting around town and hanging with the boys and stuff? Does he look at you with that ”how do I change this diaper” face? Does he roll over and fall asleep oblivious of the sleepless nights the kids are unleashing on you? Does he find it strange that being a father involves things like – giving the baby a bath and reading to them?

Love has a place in relationships, but this isn’t one of them.

4. It’s all around you – don’t ignore it

The bachelor pad tells you a million things a guy will never tell you. Everything from how clean the toilet is to what he has in the fridge is a message.

There’s something wrong with someone who’s driving a luxury car with all the trimmings, yet he doesn’t have enough toilet roll in the house or the stuff in his fridge expired 4 months ago but he hasn’t noticed. The car seats are more comfortable than his sofa, and the walls are overdue a lick of paint.

You can tell a lot from how often dude changes his sheets, to the extent and immaculate way (or not) he has wired his surround system in his bachelor pad.

Kids cost money – don’t let anyone lie to you and you can tell a lot about how a guy can cope with the financial responsibility by observing how he spends his money.

The point here is that the signs that a child will throw a monkey wrench into dude’s whole programme are there to be seen.

5. If he says he doesn’t want a child – listen to the bastard

I couldn’t be any blunter if I tried. He’s not ready so just move right along and find yourself another guy.

The years and time invested so far with him can never justify the heartache you’ll put an unwanted child in.

Cut your losses and run taking comfort from the fact that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have spent your whole life masturbating. It could be worse – believe me.

And guys, don’t worry – I have my own personal tips about how to totally avoid the dodgy broody girls you have to stay miles away from.

Unfortunately, they don’t come with signs written ’Certified Psycho’. Fatal attraction is nothing compared to what these girls will do to make your life hell.

For centuries, man has endeavoured to explain some of the mysteries of this here life of ours by resorting to the proverbial trinity of falsehoods – lies, damned lies and statistics. More recently, I remember my maths tutor in college suggesting that Statistics was a good major for those seeking to enter politics simply because you could use statistics to bullshit your way through anything.

I must admit, I have a fascination for statistical information often bandied around in the news media as they tell us something about how we live our lives. But it’s not often you come across a statistical claim that men on average, only purchase their own underwear for 17 years of their lives. This got me thinking. When was the last time I actually went out to buy new underwear? You know what, I honestly can’t remember.

Don’t get me wrong, my side of the dresser always has an abundance of neatly folded clean and fresh stock – but just like hangers that seem to be in every closet, I’ve never really taken time to think about where the new underwear came from or where the old ones were dispatched to. I guess ‘er indoors is due a monumental thank you for taking care of the finer detail in life.

Apparently, one of the biggest stores in the UK has done some research from the information they collect from their sales, and concluded that there’s credence in the notion that men in stable relationships probably have no clue how much underwear costs.

According to Debenhams, most men buy new underwear only if they are starting or about to start a relationship. The unfortunate chap whose job it was to extrapolate this info suggests:

“You can tell when a man is looking for a partner by the number of new underwear they buy. If he buys more than 31 pairs every year, he’s either still trying desperately to impress the woman in his life – or else she’s not The One”.

“This is the one issue that feminism has never addressed. It’s not who wears the pants in each household – it’s who has to buy them that counts”.

They further suggest that men’s underwear buying activity reaches a peak at the age of 23, but declines gradually until the age of 33 when it falls to zero – because many men are in a stable relationship. It picks up again between the ages of 38 and 40, when some men are going through relationship break ups and are seeking new partners again.

But it goes into a sharp decline again and slumps to zero at the age of 44 when they are generally in another stable relationship. After the age of 44 men remain strangers to the underwear department for the rest of their lives, handing all responsibility for their underwear to women.

You know, after reading this stuff, I made a point of asking ‘er indoors how much underwear costs these days and she laughed me out of the room. She was curious to know what brought this on since I’ve never bothered asking her something like this. I admit that I still don’t know how much bread, let alone underwear costs, but I guess each time I pick up a new pair from the drawer, I best be thankful for the small comforts in life. I did entertain the thought of getting in touch with all my ex’s just to thank them for this studious duty of seamlessly ensuring my dignity – but I guess this blog post will have to do.

After all, we have to relentlessly adhere to the old maxim of how important it is to wear clean underwear at every available opportunity. I doubt this has anything to do with personal hygiene….nothing like that. It’s primarily because we all owe our loved ones some dignity in case something tragic was to happen to us – say if we absent mindedly walked under a bus and ended up on a slab in an unsavoury backroom in the local mortuary.

Can you imagine your folks claiming your personal effects only to be handed dodgy underwear with skid marks? The poor folks have to grieve and need to be cut some slack.

A debate has been raging this past week in the UK, about the role of men in the delivery room during childbirth. A renowned obstetrician Michel Odent has suggested that men should be kept well away from delivery rooms as they add little value to the process of childbirth.

Odent, a veteran who has overseen more than 15,000 deliveries in over 50 years says:

”I am more and more convinced that the participation of the father is one of the main reasons for long and difficult labours. A labouring woman needs to be protected against any stimulation of the thinking part of her brain – the neocortex – for labour to proceed with any
degree of ease. She needs to be in a private world where she doesn’t have to think or talk.

Yet, motivated by a desire to ‘share the experience’, the man asks questions and offers words of reassurance and advice, denying his partner the quiet mind that she needs. The father’s release of the stress hormone adrenaline as he watches his partner labour causes her anxiety, and prevents her from
Relaxing. No matter how much he tries to smile and appear relaxed, he cannot help but feel anxious. And the release of adrenaline is contagious.”

You see, my first encounter with the trauma of childbirth happened nowhere near a delivery room. Matter of fact, it happened at a social gathering while I attended some sort of party, I forget what the party was for, but I remember that I arrived late and was talked into having some dinner first before joining with the rough and tumble of the bash if you will.

The food was being served upstairs in the restaurant area and I ended up on the same table as a good friend of mine Bella, who had given birth less than 3 weeks earlier and was cuddling her little bundle of joy. While waiting for my food, I did what everyone who came through did – congratulated Bella, cuddled the baby myself and sang goo gaa songs as if the baby gave a fuck who I was. I of course questioned Bella about the father of the child coz’ this child was too cute to belong to her husband. I know him well, and G is one ugly son of a bitch.

Speaking of which, I really get cheezed off about how pretentious people can be. How many times have you heard people go all soft kneed and gooey and lying to a mother that her new born is a cute little thing, yet it’s all plain to see how ugly the sprog is. What happened to the good ole days when people were brave enough to call things for what they are? What happened to saying congratulations, but with a cautionary “lakini dude this baby is goddamn ugly, why lie”. But I digress.

As I tucked into my dish, more and more usual suspects came through to see the new baby. Unfortunately for me, many of them were young mothers who were keen to discuss more than just the baby. How was it? (as in the delivery) Was it as bad as the first? How badly did you tear?

I was very comfortable with how obscene these girls could get as we had been clubbing buddies for a long long time and very few things surprised any of us, or at least that’s what I thought. And believe me, this group of girls could be both vulgar and breath-taking in the same respect. I remember one of them once telling a dude who fancied her in the club not to bother if he was only going to survive one shot at an orgasm. If he wasn’t going to make her cum at least thrice, he should just cut his losses and run. And it was said with a nonchalant coldness it would unsettle any warm blooded male with a dick hard enough to cut diamonds.

Naturally, I made what I thought was a stealth move to relocate to another part of the room as clearly, the graphic conversation and description of childbirth was not conducive conversation for the meal. I was quickly ordered to sit the fuck down and listen to their tales, and I suspect the girls were enjoying watching me squirm as much as they were enjoying their conversation. I didn’t even realise at what point this banter turned into an indictment of the male species as I was blamed for all the happy go lucky men who just enjoy the orgasmic pleasure of sex and want little to do with the consequences. The least I could do was to sit and listen to the consequences of our orgasmic pleasure.

Of course I severely protested and insisted that they should blame their husbands and boyfriends seated downstairs, beer in hand and screaming at the football on the big screens. But that wasn’t going to cut any mustard. Calling my girlfriend at the time to bail me out was as useless as expecting the men downstairs to even attempt to venture into this conversation. I had to listen to every graphic detail from how Bella coped with the excruciating pain to the extent of her vaginal tears and how she was sown up by the midwife – and all this while having my rice and chicken. To tell you the truth, eating rice and chicken has never been the same for me any more.

Thinking of this debate about fathers in delivery rooms does make you wonder though. Will it all fall apart if we’re not there? I know for a fact, that many of my peers who are still back home won’t go anywhere near a delivery room. The best they’ll do is probably wait for the phone call to confirm whether it’s a girl or a boy, pop in to see mother and baby and then head off to the pub to celebrate with their mates.

I know it used to be like that in the 60s and 70’s, but the bra burning brigades of the 70s saw to it that some “bonding” was forthcoming and before long, men attending deliveries of their kids became more common than microwaves in the average household – at least in the western world. A good proportion even film the whole delivery and keep the video tape in the household collection alongside 101 Dalmatians, Chuck Norris’s Delta Force and that Lord of the Rings Trilogy.

Let’s face it. Despite the perceived bonding and closeness and the out of this world human experience that a couple can get from the man being present during the delivery, childbirth is a painful, stressful, unpleasant and traumatic experience. No amount of rose tinted “having my hubby around to support and share the experience” will change that fact.

Experiencing the birth of a child will definitely change a man. The question is whether it will change them enough to appreciate what their partner has just gone through enough to strengthen their relationship; or whether it traumatizes them to the point where they have a problem even looking at the business end of their partner’s femininity with the same enthusiasm that they used to do.

There are documented stories of men who have attended childbirth, and have been so traumatized that they have subsequently walked away never to be seen again by their partner.

Impulse buying for me, has this ability to evoke certain blood thumping emotions. It must be a man thing – one of them that easily defines an exercise in futility if you try to understand it. There are certain conversations that trigger such emotions – say, like “let’s just pop into the supermarket for a sec and grab some things” or “I’m thinking of grabbing a few bits before we get home”. They have a similar effect to the male psyche when we hear statements like “we have to talk” or “sweetie, I missed my period” or “babes, you remember when I told you that…” – yeah! That kind of feeling.

So when a pit stop at a Tesco petrol station this week turned into a shopping expedition in the supermarket next door, my body defaulted to the “I don’t really wanna be hear” mode. There’s just something about shopping that repels my DNA, and while I accept that it’s a necessity in life, there’s a very big difference between picking a few bits and bobs and going out for “shopping”. I never really get to know how much drama is involved until that humongous trolley is pulled from the trolley parking zone and before I can even utter the words “do we really need this giant thing for a few bits”, there’s that almost dismissive “we’re here anyway, I think we should just do all the shopping now” response, served straight with her ‘“what you gon do’ face.

Well, one option is to go back to the car, roll the chair down and just sink off into the music, but once you’ve reached the stage of being at the supermarket door and seeing that ‘what you gon do’ face, you’ll swiftly rule out this option with a quick reminder not to get out of the car next time. Call it the pragmatism of maintaining world peace and harmony. But even then, world peace has its own casualties, and for me, its that nightmare of being in a mega store that I really don’t want to be in.

I don’t know what it is, I’ve just never liked long shopping trips. Even in my bachelor days, I wrote up a list and either made a painful trip with a very short and specific mission of getting only what was on the list, or I sweet talked a shopaholic friend to do the honours for me. I don’t remember taking many supermarket trips during college as I was broke most of the time anyway. In fact, I spent more time in the store cafeteria having a meal because of their unbelievable bargains than I did while shopping.

Online shopping was God sent. Whoever thought that folks can just sit at home, browse what they need on the web, click a few buttons and lo and behold, a chap would appear at your door with your groceries is a saint. I became a sucker for typing what I needed in the search box, ticking the check box and adding it to my shopping basket.

I guess my laziness in anything shopping doesn’t prepare me well for the sights and sounds of the modern supermarket. At least with a shopping list, you can make a quick bee line for what you need and you’re out of the place in a short time. Most supermarkets even allow you to check out your own groceries with this hand held thingybob so that you don’t waste time smiling with folks in the queue for the till and for nosy people to peer into your trolley to examine your habits.

So this time, I resolved that I should indulge in the spirit – you never know, I might like it and its better than precipitating an atmosphere that could easily land me on the sofa. I’d already lost the battle of staying in the car.

‘Er indoors however, enjoys going through the whole supermarket, aisle by aisle. I’m made to understand that this is a normal state of affairs. I never even knew that a supermarket could have a whole aisle of bread and bready like products. I think actually what surprised me more is that we spent more than 15 minutes in this bread aisle looking for cheap, good quality bread. You see, where I come from, bread is either cheap or it’s good quality but it’s not both. So this is a totally new concept for me. It also occurred to me that I didn’t know the price of a loaf of bread…Is this normal? Actually, forget I asked….

Let’s just say that the trip to grab a few bits and bobs ended us with a huge trolley that I could easily sit comfortably in being full with stuff that I didn’t even realise we needed in the house. Just set aside the fact that we were meant to do this shopping anyway, it’s just that we moved from “let’s just pick a few bits and bobs” to a full blown shopping trip under duress.

There was a bonus though – I got to understand those figures in my bank statement better. Like I said before, the price that I thought bread was apparently was the price in 1996. Go figure.

Next time, I’m carrying my 12 point guide to shopping for men who have to do it under duress. Guys, this was sent to me a few years back by a friend and it works if you’re dragged kicking and screaming for them shopping trips. I should have had it with me. Health warning though: You might end up in the doghouse, or worse still, the only hanky panky you’ll be getting for a while is from late night adult TV subscription.

My fellow brethren, if you’re dragged into a shopping trip under duress, this is what you should do to get out of it next time:

1. Take boxes of condoms and randomly put them into people’s trolleys when they aren’t looking.
2. Walk up to an employee, tap them on the shoulder and say in an official sounding voice “code 3 in house ware” and then watch what happens.
3. Move the ‘CAUTION: Wet floor’ sign to a carpeted area.
4. Make a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the feminine products aisle.
5. Set off all the alarms in house ware to go off in 5 minute intervals.
6. Set up a tent in the outdoors clothes department and tell the customers that you’ll only invite them in if they bring sausages and a gas stove.
7. When the manager asks if they can help you, just burst out crying and scream “why can’t you people just leave me alone?”
8. While picking and choosing kitchen knives in the housewares area, approach a member of staff with the knives in hand and ask them where the anti depressants are.
9. Hide in the clothing rack and when people are browsing, yell “pick me, pick me”
10. Run around the supermarket suspiciously humming loudly to the theme tune of Mission Impossible
11. When an announcement comes over the loud speakers, coil down in a foetal position and scream “No, no, no – it’s those voices again”
12. Walk into a changing room and lock yourself in, and after a while, shout loudly “there’s no toilet paper in here”

I can think of any number of women I know who will scream “It’s about bloody time” when you confidently tell them that this time – the male contraceptive that is proving to be as good as the pill in preventing pregnancy is just round the corner – literally.

There’s been a number of hoaxes and false starts over the years, but scientists are apparently confident (like a scientist will ever admit that their experiment or project is a waste of space and doomed for failure) that within 5 years, the male contraceptive jab that they have been testing will be ready to give women a break from the responsibility of taking care of birth control.

In the latest study of more than 1,000 men, just over one in 100 conceived a child, similar figures to the 1 or 2 per cent of women who become pregnant while taking oral contraception.

However, like with most studies in the past, the biggest stumbling block isn’t the medical aspects that will actually stop the sperm in its tracks….Apparently, the biggest stumbling block is whether women will sufficiently trust their men to be exclusively responsible for the use of hormonal contraception.

I guess we as men don’t exactly give ourselves the best fighting chance when it comes to some issues. I remember one regular punter down my local pub lamenting that she can never trust men – and her reason was simple, the last time she trusted a man, she ended up with a daughter. I mean, who can argue with her position in such a case….

The testosterone injection, which could be on the market in five years, was tested on a group of healthy fertile men aged 20 to 45, each of whom had fathered at least one child in the previous two years. Female partners were aged between 18 and 38 and had no reproductive problems.

Lead researcher Dr Yi-Qun Gu said: ”For couples who cannot, or prefer not to use only female-oriented contraception, options have been limited to vasectomy, condom and withdrawal. Our study shows a male hormonal contraceptive regimen may be a potential, novel and workable alternative.”

You know what, I really admire men who claim to be strong enough to use coitus interruptus as a birth control method. That’s right! I’m a weak man…LOL! There’s some things that I find difficult and one of them is withdrawing from an impending ejaculation. That’s just crazy. A herd of wild buffalo pulling me away at such a critical stage of coitus would have a job on their hands.

In the latest trial on a jab, the men were given monthly 500 milligram injections of testosterone undecanoate in tea seed oil over a period of two and a half years.

The men’s fertility returned to normal in all but two participants after the treatment was stopped.

Scary though to know that you might not get your mojo back – but seriously, I’ll sign up to use it if it’s on the market, if only to give ‘er indoors a breather.

Results from the Chinese trial, the largest effectiveness study of a testosterone-based male contraceptive ever undertaken, will appear in the June issue of the Journal of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism. The study, which was backed by the World Health Organisation, used buttock injections, alternating sides with each jab.

There were no serious side effects caused by the testosterone injections, although severe acne affected some volunteers.

However, almost one third of 1,045 men enrolled in the trial did not complete it and no reason was provided for this.

Heelllloooo!!! Did someone check the local morgue???

As a young girl, ask any seasoned mother for advice about boys and heartbreaks, and she’ll tell you with a tint of reflective self regret – “Avoid the pretty boys”. Now, I’m not advocating here for the paid up, card carrying members of the “Girl’s ignore me coz’ I’m ugly society”, but it’s a well known factor that pretty boys break hearts. Besides, its contestable too that pretty girls are made of angelic character(*he says waving a white handkerchief to some known usual suspects*), though it’s not arguable that folks are short changed all round based on looks.

Apparently, it’s now understood that adulterers are more likely to be driving flashy and expensive cars, and just like the pretty boys, they break hearts as those who hustle with good old fashioned bangers like Fords and Nissans feel just as short changed as ugly folks when it comes to pulling skirt.

In a recent survey in the UK by a dating website that exclusively specializes in infidelity (business is abused as an excuse for anything these days…LOL!)…

• 20% of adulterers drove flashy expensive cars
• BMW owners topped the list of cheaters
• Adulterers were least interested in their partners cars

The sorts of high powered executive cars driven by the top adulterers included Bentley’s, Aston Martin’s, Porsche’s and the biggest chunk were those driving Beamers.

Makes you wonder though – if I were a girl, would I bang a guy with an ugly old ordinary car ama a guy with a car that makes you mesmerised enough to remove your panties without realising what you’re doing…LOL!

Let’s face it, an ordinary dude standing next to an 11 year old battered but clean Nissan Maxima wouldn’t stand a chance next to an ordinary guy with a fully loaded 2009 Jaguar XF or an S Class Shinde that looks like a space ship.

And I doubt that knowledge of possible infidelity will ever deter some girls from making informed choices.

Maybe I should support and make a donation to the “Girls ignore me coz’ I’m ugly society”. We can’t have all the pretty boys (and girls…) as well as pretty vehicles stealing all the thunder….LOL!