I read recently that a study conducted by the University of Iowa showed that couples who were similar in temperament had healthier, more harmonious relationships than those who weren't. So, that chestnut "opposites attract" proved to be very wrong indeed.

I was glad to learn this, since my own personal experiences supported this conclusion. See, I used to believe that old saying passionately, and would go right out of my way to find women who were completely unlike me.

Like Alex ...

She was an early bird. I'm more of a night owl. Taking into account our various work commitments we only had a couple of hours around dusk to spend together. She wanted to cook. I wanted sex.

"Well, let's kill two birds with one stone," she said, in her trademark abrupt manner.

I decided that since beggars couldn't be choosers it was worth going with whatever she had in mind.

Bad move. It was extremely emasculating - and painful! - to have my manhood pummeled with a mortar and pestle. And that paprika really burned!

So, after the bandages were removed I went looking for another girlfriend. Someone a little more gentle, I thought. Still, she had to be my opposite.

I found Rose. She was certainly gentle, and very accommodating. She was also obsessively clean and tidy - something I most definitely am not.

Before we consummated our relationship she decided she had to clean up my unit. I found the prospect very stressful.

"Okay, it's not pretty," I admitted. "But that's my mess. It's a deeply personal expression of who I am!"

She wouldn't budge. "I clean the place, or I walk," she huffed.

It might be nice to see the bedroom walls free of dried omelette, I thought. Still, I couldn't help but feel more than a tad violated.

Reluctantly I let her do what she had to do.

The kitchen was the worst so she left it until last. I'd left the dishes unwashed so long that a rare species of mould had grown in the darkness at the bottom of the sink.

It was very grumpy mould, this. When those first rays of sunshine hit, it leapt onto Rose's head like the face-hugger from the movie Alien.

After six hours in the operating theatre Rose was finally out of danger. But a renowned botanist had heard of the mould's existence and crept into my flat to examine it. Turned out it was the only surviving colony of this particular species in the entire country. He declared that my sink should henceforth become a national park.

My unit became a honey-pot for environmental activists and subsequently the media. Not surprisingly, this was the death knell for my relationship with Rose.

I mean, you try to make love in your bedroom with fifty greenies outside chanting "Two, three, four, five! Hayden's mould must stay alive!" and three helicopters circling overhead ...

Finally the penny dropped: I had to stop looking for my opposite. I needed a woman as randy, nocturnal and messy as myself.

But I've been thinking: The only place I might find someone like that is in a loony bin. Which is why I don't like my chances. I always have been afraid of commitment, you see.

END.

Copyright Matt Hayden, Feb 2005.