Seventh sense man.

I have more than often wondered how it is that I attract the weirdo men. I have attracted the, if I’m batshit what are you shitting, men. I have attracted the ones that apparently poo nothing then suddenly BAM! Diarrhoea. Then there are the men that just let out some wind and follow through. However it is that they empty their craziness, I get the crazy. I hear the hypocrisy,let me just say now, I have enough crazy for an army at times. I do not want or need someone else’s crazy. Sadness fine, Crazy no. Two ill bats just create a vampire.

It suddenly struck me that I don’t actually attract this type. They find me. Men I have discovered have a seventh sense,probably because their sixth is weak. Have you ever received a text from a dude and you just sit gawping into your tea asking how they knew you and your manhub had just had an argument? Or you go out feeling totally cak about your looks and attract everyone so you drink more to cope? Or the occasions when they just say the right thing as if they had bugged your telephone conversation with your best gal, listening in to your rants and desires? I am telling you. This is their seventh sense.

Not all men have it. The “normal” ones don’t need it. Their confident in their abilities to get a nice girl, they don’t need to pray on anything. Personally I believe they make up a teaspoon of the male population. I also calculated into the equation the men whose women believe they are good yet everybody else notices the shit pouring out of the bottom of his trousers.

The seventh sense men are in one way or another shitting. Batshit,windshit, BAMshit. But it’s all the same product. These men find the vulnerable in you,with no effort, probably subconsciously on the most part. MOST USED LOOSELY. They know if your weak ( easy is an option to this. Insert if needed), they know if your craving attention, they know that if your five baby daddy’s down your gonna stick with what you get. Their ability to pin down the parts of you that you hate the most and compliment them is uncanny. Ruthless.

When Mr Duck and myself are quaking away, posting, tagging on social media. Nothing. When me and Mr Duck are swimming along loving life and each other. Nothing. When I am so besotted with my duck I could serve him up for dinner. Nowt. No birds near duck. No shit near duck. Life is quackingly great. It quack get better.

But what has happened is this. My duck flew the nest and migrated for winter, suddenly every seventh sense, praying shitting bird is circling. I sat wondering why I was receiving these random texts, appearances from shitters on my phone all over the place. I mean I like these people! For now! But it makes them questionable. I couldn’t figure out how they sensed the vulnerability. Thank god they don’t read my blog.. One wine and a line of coke would have had me out the nest a day or so ago. But the point is they sense it. The sad bit is I’m currently gluing myself down because they have sensed it so well I have to use everything I have to not reply. Reminding myself that not one of them has anything better than my gorgeous man,that I am a morale woman and most of all, I love my duck. Yes I love my duck. I love wine.. Doh. I love sex.. Doh. I love love love attention.. Triple doh. That’s why I have glue,the best glue. Because despite my wobbles, batshit emotions and not wanting to,their senses are spot on.


It’s this that has given me some comfort. Like cracking (so want to out quacking. Too much?) a code. I don’t find them,they find me. I am right not to trust the charmers, the ones that lay bread crumbs, the ones so bloody nice you want to strangle them and put them on mute. I always thought crazy attracts crazy. This is true with friends, but with men..nahah.. Vulnerable attracts man crazy, a man with a seventh sense. You are never getting away unless you crack it at the start or call in women’s aid.

The really good thing is, I have been tempted to dance with the devil as of late, the devil’s have knocked my door and asked for my hand to the dance floor and I have not put on my dancing shoes. I am somewhat proud of my batshit self. Not enough to put the birds of shit back in a box, maybe I will keep them as homing pigeons for when I really hit shit. Although for now I have been nice and told them to fly off gently.

But beware girls. They are everywhere. So the next time you think, wow.. Not wow. The next time you think this one has it all ask yourself what vulnerabilities you have and if he is hitting them all then walk, he is not the duck for you.