Girls, please note or rather, please be warned…IF you choose to date someone in a creative industry, be aware that his arse will be harbouring a fucking massive growth which you will recognise to be his ‘Ego’. If they aren’t expanding their egos out of every other orifice of their body, they’re probably wanking themselves off alone in a mirrored room.

Self adoration + sex = Man’s life long wet dream.

I’ve recently been dating a guy who claimed to be (his precise words) ‘Sensitive, caring and sweet’. What he was in actual fact was an egotistical arsehole with a mouth constantly spouting shit.

Firstly, every date I went on with this guy would be about him. What he did during the week, what he created, how it looked, how long it took him to master it, how much of an amazing piece it was, how hard done by he was because no one could see the greatness in the work… Oh please give me a fucking break. An educationally challenged delinquent could do better with their eyes closed.

He translated time in ‘windows’ and ‘pencils’. “I’ve got a window at mid day”… “Shall we pencil in Thursday?” And tracking him down would be like following a heat seeking missile what with his “I don’t know my movements tomorrow”. Well ok baby, when you have a ‘window’ to ‘pencil’ in a shit can you please let me know your ‘movements’…that’s providing you don’t shit your ego down the bog and spend your next free ‘window’ chasing it in order to lodge it back in your fucking great big arse crack. You’d better hope by that time, I haven’t grabbed your ‘pencil’ and rammed it good and proper down your Jap’s eye.

Anyone would have thought they were dating the fucking president slash James Bond on a mission to buggery.

When it finally came to the end, I’d left something at his flat which I needed returned. However, the last thing I wanted to do was work around his windows and pencils and end up having to see his more than pathetic egotistical arse. SO I asked he drop my belongings across the road from his flat at the premises of my friend’s shop. This way I didn’t have to see him and listen to his bull shit and I could go and pick them up when convenient for me. THREE days he had to do the drop. Across the road he had to walk. Did he do it? No. His oversized ego had most definitely been dented and therefore, in order to feel back in control and powerful, he decided to be an even bigger cock than he inherently was and have me chase him for it. Games, I just have no time for them. There was texting back and forth for a day and then it came to light he had expected I turn up at his flat and collect it directly from him. He obviously knew I didn’t have the time or desire to see him – self obsessed he was, stupid he wasn’t - but his ego had been damaged and he chose to be a difficult little prick to spite me.

Two days later, he dropped it off. It probably took him those extra 48 hours to find a band aid large enough to strap his ego back to his arse in order for him to navigate his fat crack across the road and hand my possessions over.

The male ego, it is fragile and pathetic but most of all, it is transparent.

Be advised, men in creative industries are by far the pioneers of the world’s largest most twisted egos.

Cougarized.