33

33 is the magic number. And not just because Dan Brown said it in his book The Lost Symbol (Yes, I read it, and liked it). In this day and age, I've watched my girlfriends go through their terrible 30s, and now I'm witnessing my guy friends hit their panicking 33s.

Five guys near and dear to my heart, I would consider to be my closest, some of whom I call 'the voice of reason in my head', one of whom I call my boyfriend, have all hit a brick way all at the same time. 33. This is the age, in this place, I found in my yuppie circles, to be the age when men are looking for a wife and family.

I was having dinner with one my nearest and dearest, and also exboyfriend, and he was upset he just ended things with a girl and all he wants to do is find a wife and have kids.

Why couldn't he hit that wall while we were dating?

Another dear friend said this: "I'm just tired of it all. I'm so ready to settle down. I'm interviewing potential wives now.

And this is the event: They buy a house. The source of independence, the living proof he is a provider, but he has no one to provide for. Like woman and their shapely child-birthing hips, and shapely wit, we throw up these objects to find a catch.

Is it really all that simple? Guy provides, girls need to feel provided for? And when that magic number hits for both of them, it's magic.

So find a guy toward the end of home construction and be present when he realises how empty his nest is without you there..