Here is the thing about dream girls: they don’t usually (necessarily) live up to a “man’s” criteria for ideal attractiveness. More often than not, in fact, the dream girl ends up simply being a woman who will put up with his shit and share an above average amount of interests with him (or at least, she’ll pretend to–for a time).

The prototype for what truly constitutes a dream girl, rather than, say, a Playboy pinup

But then, when she proves too much to seem “made for him,” the “man” in question will grow bored. Because, ultimately, “men” seek excitement in the form of the unknown, a constant shift in what’s to be expected–it helps convince them that mortality isn’t imminent (what’s more distracting than variety, inconstancy?), and that a woman can never know him so intimately so as to be able to use it against him when it suits her. But, ultimately, to throw over a woman willing to not only withstand your foibles, but even find them endearing is to say: “I not only have no dick, I also have no conscience.”