TOXIC BACHELOR

WANT TO KNOW WHY YOUR MAN SUDDENLY WENT COLD? STUART HOOD HAS THE ANSWER

Bring on the happy pills – Turneville Towers (chez Toxic) is not a joyous camp. In some kind of weird, sadistic synchronicity, not one but two of my female flatmates (Heather and Lucie) have been dumped by their long-term boyfriends. Yup, men are detritus round this neck of the woods. Detritus and also, more pertinently, aliens. Incomprehensible aliens. All Heather and Lucie want to know – aside from where they'll find the takeaway menus, tissues and wine – is why? Why did these men do it to them? Why did it end so abruptly? Why did he suddenly go cold?

A trio of questions asked an awful lot, by an awful lot of women, none of whom receive a logical answer. And the reason? There isn't one. The truth is, men simply wake up and feel differently. Suddenly you're too loud, too mumsy, too neat, too hirsute, or too immature. Or we think: "Hold on, I could be sleeping round the city."

Take your pick. It could be the smallest thing in the world. It could be the biggest. Whatever it is, it's enough to make us rethink our relationship. And when that doubt sets in, sorry ladies – illogical or not – it's goodbye and goodnight.

But it isn't all bad news. Half of us will regret our rashness (cue tears, love letters and "I've been an idiot" door-knocks). The rest? Sadly for them there's no cure, but there is the distinct possibility of prevention. A possibility you can enable by doing, well, nothing.

Sounds simple – and it is. Just be yourself. You know, the carefree girl we 
met and fell in love with. Start to fixate on "Where are we going?" and we won't get there. Change and we will too. Don't and we won't. Men aren't stupid. Believe me, we know how long we've been going out, how old you are and how many of your friends are engaged. We know, because we love you. Get that? Good. Stop fretting. Allow things to happen organically and sooner or later we'll summon our cojones and ask you to take the next step (move in together/get married). Push and there's a high chance we'll jump.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

I cheated on my boyfriend while I was on a girlie holiday. I don't know if I should tell him the truth, or just keep quiet. What's your advice?

The truth? He can't handle the truth. Coming clean is going to leave you a) without a bloke, or b) with one who will never trust you again. Sure, if you don't tell he might suspect something, but without a confession, suspicions are all he has. And, despite Elvis' claims to the contrary, men can go on with suspicious minds. They can't go on with a girl who has strayed.

TOXIC BACHELOR

THE ONLY BODY ISSUE STUART HOOD HAS IS CHOOSING THE ONE HE FANCIES TONIGHT

Blonde. Brunette. Tall. Short. Asian. American. Size 6. Size 14. Fiery. Shy. 19. 36. Buxom breasts. Jelly tots on an ironing board.

Something struck me while I was flicking through my love back catalogue. And that something was how little my exes have in common. Admittedly, I have deal breakers (weight limits, nose size, huge tattoos, etc), but aside from these, nothing in my past suggests I have a ‘type'. And, just recently, I seem to be out to prove it.

"I feel like a size 14 tonight," I decided last Saturday. "I'm going for a blonde," I decreed at a recent ball. "Big boobs," was my Royal Ascot diktat.

Sexist? Undoubtedly. Successful? Why, yes, thank you. But I don't want your praise. I want you to appreciate what my actions mean. I want you to understand that, in a man's eyes, there is no such thing as the all-encompassing ‘perfect' body. So I want you to stop messing yourself and your relationships up by trying to get it.

I'm not saying quit exercising, embrace the deep-fat fryer or stop waxing. I'm advising the 37 per cent of you on diets and the two-thirds hankering after surgery to think seriously.

Ask yourself: am I trying to find myself or am I attempting to be someone else? If it's the former, good luck. If it's the latter, pull out while you still can, because your alter ego will not make things any better.

No matter how much make-up you slap on, or how thin you become, you are not, and are never going to be, the celebrity you aspire to be. I know, I've tried. When I was 20, I dyed my hair, bought a couple of vests and mimicked Eminem. I got laughed at, lots, but laid very little (read: never).

Actually, my exes do have one thing in common. They realise that being ‘sexy' isn't about eating one carrot a day, pumping your breasts full of silicone or pining after someone else's look. It's about being comfortable with yours. It's about celebrating – and letting men celebrate – the nuances that make you, you.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

My boyfriend and I have a great relationship, but he never buys me gifts or flowers. It's getting to me — what does it mean?

It means he feels he doesn't have to — a malaise that's both good and bad for your relationship. Good because he doesn't feel guilty about anything. Bad because he feels he no longer has to impress you.

He wooed you and now you're cruising along happily together. Only you're not, are you? It's boring. The spark has gone. Relight the fire. Suggest a dirty weekend.

TOXIC BACHELOR

STUART HOOD ON THE BOWEL-CHURNING HORRORS OF MEETING THE PARENTS

Mike grinned: "Game over. I think that's £120 you owe us." Things were not going well. Actually, that's a seismic understatement. My girlfriend Lou's father Charlie (think De Niro in Meet The Parents, but with a golf club instead of a lie detector), a man I'd met for the first time the previous evening, was glowering at me.

"At last – the superstar," he'd bellowed the night before. "Ready for tomorrow?"

"Uh, yes," I smiled, mouthing to Lou: "Superstar? Tomorrow?"

"My friend Mike's been talking big," Charlie continued, "but we'll shut him up – given the way you play."

Lou hadn't told him the one thing I'd stressed above all others. Just because I used to write for a golf magazine does not mean I am good at golf.

"Don't worry," she sighed before we turned in (separate bedrooms, of course). "You'll be fine." I would not be fine. I was a dead boyfriend walking.

Overreaction? I don't think so. A girl's parents' first (and natural) reaction to a new boyfriend is suspicion. They believe he is not good enough for their little girl. They just need the ammunition to prove it, then they'll take us down in a blaze of smugness.

I know Lou wanted her dad to think we had something in common, but by bragging about my golfing past, not only had she provided said ammunition, she had done what no woman should ever do – place me on a pre-parental meeting pedestal.

Victory was now essential. Defeat: failure. Bad news, since the circumstances made defeat virtually inevitable.

I was meeting Lou's parents for the first time. Thus, like all men on these occasions behind the must-not-show-weakness exterior, I was a shaking mix of jellified backbone, barely able to string a sentence together, let alone excel at golf.

Hence, ladies, on behalf of all men, I beg – please make our first in-law introductions as quiet, uneventful and short as possible. Which means lunch or dinner. Not 18 holes against Big Charlie's big-betting buddy.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

I've been single for two years and I just can't seem to find a man. What am I doing wrong?

The most common fault of women who've been single for a long time is desperation, desperation and desperation. Stop fixating on your past failures and play it cool. This doesn't mean calling a guy you've seen twice your boyfriend.

It means going on a date, then, if nothing comes of it, saying "c'est la vie" and trying again. Dating is like gambling. You have to play the odds and bide your time. Do this and fate will deal you the right hand.

TOXIC BACHELOR

STUART HOOD HAS NO PROBLEM DATING SINGLE MUMS - WITHIN REASON...

Steven Gerrard bedlinen. Fernando Torres posters. More footballs than Soccer Scene… Clearly this wasn't the toilet. And, equally clearly, Ruth had fibbed.

"Nothing of note," she'd smiled, when I'd questioned her about her previous relationships. Now I know I'm fairly deficient at cracking female codes, but if anyone can explain how "nothing of note" equates to: "I have a Liverpool-mad seven-year-old son called Craig," I'll wire my wages to a charity of their choice.

"I thought he'd scare you off," Ruth explained, after my accidental toilet detour forced her to reveal all. 
"I know what you guys think."

Glad she did, because it was news to me that "us guys" view single mothers as "more trouble than they're worth" or "a complication we don't need".

As long as you're upfront about it
(a casual drop into conversation, not "table for three, make one a high chair"), men have no problem dating a woman with children. In the end, I dumped Ruth because she was a perennial liar, not because she had a son.

The problems emerge when we end up dating a woman and her children. We ask you out because we like and want to get to know you. That's you. Not your daughter. Not your mother. You. We want to talk about you, spend time with you, get closer to you.

And, sure, part of this will involve your child, because he/she is, quite rightly, so important in your life. That's fine. Talk about them all you want. Maybe even introduce us after a couple of months. But do not, repeat do not, attempt to bestow even the most miniscule of fatherly responsibilities upon us (school run, nappy changing, Santa outfit to deliver presents). We will turn tail and run because it's unfair on your kid.

We're your boyfriend, not their babysitter. Your lover, not their: "new dada". Until you're certain we're going to become a permanent fixture in your life, we need to be mummy's little secret.

Dear Toxic Bachelor

I've been going out with my boyfriend for nine months and he's just announced he's going travelling for a year. He says he wants us to stay faithful, but I'm not sure that's realistic. What do you think?

I don't think, I remember. I remember a flood of early-in-the-trip calls getting scarcer and scarcer. I remember a world full of women. I remember frustration. I remember a youth hostel bunk bed with two people in it. I remember guilt (mine). I remember tears (hers). Your bloke won't mean to hurt you, but he will. End it. You can always spark things up again when he's back.