Karen's Guide
To Not Being Single and Annoying
by Karen Jackson

Right, that's it. I've had enough. Another carbon copy of last decade's Cosmo is on the stands, Ally MacBeal is still chasing the married bloke, and those Mars and Venus books keep shifting quicker than an overweight man in a nylon G-string. Now Sex and the City is whining about how hard it is for men and women to get on with each other.

Well boo hoo. I've got just one thing to say. Actually, I've got a number of things to say, including "what's your problem?", "get over it", and "please be so kind as to pass me that chainsaw over there."

I am not single. And you know why? Because it didn't take me half my life and seventeen self help books to work out a few simple truths about relationships. If I may use the first series of Sex and the City as an example, here is my 7-step program as derived from the school of the bloody obvious.

1. No matter what your gender, if you are "having sex like a man", you are misusing your God given right to rub uglies. And if you're "having sex like a woman", you're probably just wondering whether you left the iron on. Solution: attempt to "have sex like a snail". Hermaphrodites understand each other's needs perfectly.

Note: Do not attempt to "have sex like a black widow spider". This can be rather messy and difficult to explain to the relevant authorities.

2. If you think your date is "boring" or "too nice" it's probably an indication that you are a self-centred, nasty, shrivelled cow with a bleak view of the world and the real possibility of dying of a stress ulcer. Solution: "out-nice" anyone that comes near you. That way whoever you meet will be just the sort of bastard you were originally looking for.

3. If you are drop dead gorgeous with a successful career and million dollar inner city flat you should not worry about the size of your thighs in comparison to a supermodel's. If you do, you need a hobby, or a lobotomy. Solution: combine the two for endless amusement.

4. If you feel intimidated by photos of models in fashion magazines you simply aren't reading enough issues of New Scientist. Solution: read Cosmo but keep your eyes closed.

5. If you are chasing men who chase models, while being best friends with a gay man who is chasing a model, you might want to take up banging your head against a wall. It's less painful and more emotionally rewarding. Solution: attempt to seduce the gay man - at least you get along with the guy.

6. If you think that all men are only after sex, you've obviously only seen them in nightclub settings. In their natural habitat, the shed, all men are really only after a half-inch drill bit and a couple of lumps of four-be-two. Solution: have sex in the shed, and marriage will follow as a matter of course.

7. If you are looking for Mr Right you've wasted your life. There was only one Mr Right, and Jack Dawson died on the Titanic (how can a squillion teenage girls be wrong?), so forget it. Solution: start looking for Mr Not-So-Bad-Except-For-The-Full-Body-Tattoo, or even Mr Quite-Nice-But-He-Farts-In-Bed. Farting in bed is easier to live with than either a man who doesn't fart (get out of the house NOW), or the dog, which does fart, but doesn't even think to apologise.

To sum up, it's best not to follow the examples of dozy American "post feminist" bints, as living in a self-imposed, neurotic, unhappy unreality is not really how you want to die.

For more information, why not try my self help books: Lower Your Standards and its sequel, How to Make Friends and Marry Them. Coming out next month is my latest bestseller If All Men Are Bastards, You Don't Know Enough Men.

Karen Jackson has a great face for radio, which is naturally why she writes for a living. This Australian ex-librarian (ssh, don't tell) has won contests for length of leg hair, and written tomes on how best to wear a cardigan and a pair of saggy-bummed track pants for best effect. In her spare time she picks her nose and gargles vats of wine. Nonetheless she has been happily married for an excessive amount of time, creates women's erotica, and is somehow managing to study for a post graduate diploma. Still suffering from RSI, she thoroughly recommends the Breville Multi-Speed as the personal massager of choice. Oh baby.