Fleur Ritchie: The bumpy code to love
I have never been a New Year's Eve fan; personally I think it is
overrated hype that always fails to deliver. Last year was the
worst one in history; desperate and dateless I sat at home watching
chick flicks and arthouse films (which are basically porn for
people who can't bring themselves to face the spotty teenager at
the video store with actual porn).
However, this year was a different story entirely - happily
loved-up Pete and I attended a New Year's Eve wedding. It was
perfect… well, almost perfect: as the bride and groom walked down
the aisle post-vows, Pete leaned over and whispered in my ear,
"It's like a funeral march, another brother lost to the cause." I
looked at him with mock horror and thought, "Yes, this is why we
need the code." A few hours, bubblies and beers later, we shared a
romantic midnight kiss and he looked into my eyes and said, "You
know I will marry you one day baby." It wasn't a proposal of
course, but it made me weak, weak at the knees and weak in my
allegiance to the code. I am ashamed to admit I broke it.
I broke the SCOV code - that's right, with flippant carelessness in
a moment of love induced weakness I broke the Sacred Code of
Vajayjays (which for the record, is a word I feel rolls off the
tongue much more eloquently than vaginas). The SCOV code is not
unlike the barcode on a tampon box - men know it exists but dare
not question it. One of the top items on the SCOV code is "though
shalt not divulge to the male species that you fantasise about
marriage" (or in my case, admit whilst stopping momentarily in a
conveniently close proximity to a jewelers window). As soon
as the words came out of my mouth I regretted it, knowing that my
guy would lap up this little revelation and it would be stored on
our relationship shelf.
So ladies tell me, what are your top three SCOV code rules? And gents, is there a SCOP code to match?
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