If the showbiz rumour mill is to be believed (AND IT IS. ALWAYS.), Lady Gaga was one of the women to step up and make herself an honest woman this leap year by proposing to her Vampire Diaries lover, Taylor Kinney. But ladies, before there is stampede to the nearest H.Samuels in loyal, blind following of the Gaga’s freaky footsteps, remember that this is a woman who also didn’t think twice about donning a sirloin as a dress and a crustacean as a hairpiece. What’s more, it wasn’t until her third music video featuring her wearing nothing but bondage knickers that the world actually began to believe she didn’t have a ‘gigantic donkey dick’: so whether she’s followed the gender reversing leap year tradition, or is in fact just another dude in love, we’ll never know.
In fact, it is my hope that the majority of sane women of the world have had slightly more pressing things to occupy themselves with this year than hopping about with their matrimonial legs crossed, trying not to piss themselves in hope that their boyfriend will one day put them out of their singleton misery and seal the god damn deal. The tradition crutch which marriage lamely hobbles around on these days may suggest that any single woman older than Miley Cyrus is a desperate spinster who sobs snot bubbles over My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and licks images of Kate and Wills in Hello magazine in hope of ingesting some good romantic fortune, but it’s my suspicion that most are too busy cackling over their fifth bottle of Prosecco on Thursday evenings and joining the cougar-crew by taking advantage of Harry Styles lookalikes on the weekends to actually give a flying fuck about the naked state of their wedding finger,
However, ladies, if you do want a good reason to cram in a last minute proposal, let it be this: a law passed in 1288 in Scotland decreed that, should the lady be rejected, she should be entitled to fine the unlucky object of her commitment starved affections to the value of anything from a kiss to £1, to ‘the silk from which to make a gown’. Amazing. A man proposing on any other day of the year is left with nothing more than his penis protracting back inside him in brain bleeding embarrassment. Personally, I couldn’t wait to propose to my bewildered Post Man this morning, only to frog-march him down to John Lewis to compensate me with twelve pairs of lambskin gloves which I will use to spank his balding head for the remainder of the year, as per the Dutch reimbursement folk tale (minus the noggin spanking). Now surely, when ambitions and opportunities are endless and you could be out glove shopping with Posties and sipping £1 shandies over half drunk compensation kisses, there is suddenly a lot more to life than planning a wedding?!
So, men, as much as you may have enjoyed teasing the woman who toils next to you in the office about stocking up the kitchen cupboard with enough Gin to drown their impending marriage rejection: BEWARE. For she is likely to 1) knee you in the jugular until you SHUT THE FUCK UP or 2) trick you out of an easy quid. As men across the world pruned their pubes in pant wetting anticipation of some post-engagement celebratory sex, perhaps they should have considered that not all women are foaming at the mouth with one-sided marriage hunger. In fact gents, there’s probably a better chance of Britain winning the Olympics than you winning a wife this leap year.
