I said goodbye to my friend Jez, as he went on his paternity leave, and cheered to myself when I received a text saying he had just become a father to a girl. Even though I was on my own I still punched the air and loudly celebrated because I knew that the recent addition to Jez’s family was going to be just fine. Great in fact. Awesome! I knew this because Jez is a man who loves women.  And we’re not talking sleezy here – Jez is no Gaz from Geordie Shore {Thank god} we’re talking in a ‘women are brilliant’ way.

You see there are men who like women and there are men who love women. The men who like women will have girlfriends who they love, but they see them as just that –a girlfriend. Different from one of their mates. They don’t generally have a lot of friends who are girls, they’re more of a lad’s lad – they love nothing more than a boys night out and usually think all we do is talk about periods, shoes and who fancies who. They don’t really see past our femininity. If we put on weight, forget to shave our legs or spend most Sunday’s resembling Gollum ~ they’re not impressed.

Men who love women, on the other hand, see past our ‘shit’. They see past our Sunday Smegal breath, our talk of periods, shoes and who fancies who {let’s face it; we talk about that stuff a lot} the extra junk in our trunk, and instead simply think we’re the dog’s bollocks. Our company is just as witty, entertaining and challenging as their male friends. They don’t stereotype us into  ‘girls go shopping on Saturdays’ or ‘girls just nag’ and are never bothered when we turn up to an all male get together on a Thursday evening slightly pissed, talking crap. And by slightly I mean steaming.

I have a theory that I harp on about to anyone who’ll listen. It’s not concrete, I’m not going to write a paper on it, but in about 90 per cent of my case studies {14 so far} the theory has proven to  be right.  And it’s this: I think that these men ~ who simply love women for being women ~ have grown up with a strong female presence in their lives – at  least one sister and/or a strong mother.

The first time I hugged Jez goodbye he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in for a huge bear squeeze. He wasn’t afraid to touch me and nothing about it was sexual.

‘You’ve got a sister haven’t you?,’ I asked him

‘No,’ he replied. Damn! My theory was failing me. ‘I’ve got three!’  he added. YEAH! Theory back on track!

My brother is a perfect example. Having grown up with two sisters who were, and still are, heavily into musical theatre, he didn’t have much of a choice but to co-exist and hang out with girls otherwise he would have had a very lonely childhood. At almost 37 you can stick him in a room full of the opposite sex and he’s quite at home. He never thinks we can’t do something because we’re girls and always is the first to invite myself and Sister With Massive Laugh out to meet his mates. We are his equals and he thinks we’re brilliant. I mean it’s not hard to think like that because we are. We’re all brilliant. Whether we’re into ballet, gardening, accounting or teaching and whether we’re 6 foot tall with a tash or 4 foot 11” small with a huge rack. We’re different but we’re just as great.

So, what’s the point of my theory? I hear you ask. Well, the point is that I want to surround myself with these men more and more as I get older and I think we should all aim for this. I love men, boys, lads…whatever we want to call them. I love them in every carnation that they present themselves to me. I love that they’re different to us, I love the way they smell, how they stand, how they deal with emotions and how they make me laugh.  But I especially love men who see us in the same light: as their equals, their contemporaries and most importantly their friends.

Jez’s little girl is going to grow up with a Dad who thinks she is ace and can do all the things that boys can.

What a lucky little lady she is.