by kieryn graham

Created on: October 10, 2008   Last Updated: November 10, 2010

If this is bad-ass Bill in a leather jacket competing against thoughtful Tom in khakis in a cardigan, then we all know it's no contest: We will love Bill and give him all the sex he craves until he Harleys on down the road to the next tramp-stamped, pool-shootin' little cutie. Play a pathetically sad country song and turn the page. We'll suck-up our heartache, granting that Tom will become "a good provider"; and, maybe, inspired by fear and pity the natural consequences of tragedy, we'll cave and marry the poor slob. Bill got the trophy; Tom gets the lovely consolation prizes.

My generally infallible Intuition tells me, in this competition for my affection, our lovable but hapless "nice guy" will get the prize and still finish last. When this charming, thoughtful, polite and considerate character cannot quite go wire-to-wire, my heart will break and I will compassionate the poor guy even as I choose another tougher, more genuinely respectful hombre.

I gotta confess, first and foremost, I need a man who will make me feel safe. My cave-dwelling grandmothers taught me to rely on big strong men with very large clubs and perfect willingness to use them. When wooly mammoths roam the cul de sac, a girl's gotta risk it all on the guy who reliably can shelter, feed, and clothe her. Liberal application of the big club to the wooly mammoth yields fur coats and lots of elegant firelight dinners; who can say no to a deal like that?

The primeval need for safety persists, but now I can pick-up a raspberry vinaigrette mammoth Lean Cuisine at 7/11, I don't necessarily need the man that goes with it. My definition of "safety" has evolved along with my wardrobe and the technology. Now, "safe" has a lot more to do with a man's ability to "shelter" me by providing me sanctuary and moratorium. In other words, I need a man who can make me feel as though he protects me from the horrors of the great big world all around that nasty and brutish place where banks fail, cut-throat boys try to steal my job, and would-be Vice-Presidents shoot wolves from helicopters. Does the field include a competitor who can shelter me from those atrocities? My safety also depends on opportunities to take time out from the relentless business of satisfying everybody else's demands on my time, talent, and energy. Although our circumstances and expectations have evolved, women's roles have remained pretty much the same: Everyone still demands that we nourish, compassionate, and guide all those who fall under

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