Dear Baroness,  Spring is here and you would think that would be a good thing. But I’m in a bad mood because I’ve been dumped. And I’m not the only one. It seems to be going around. And it hurts, you know? It never gets any easier. And you swear you’ll never let yourself fall in love again and then you meet someone who makes you feel like it’s okay to fall. And you trust them. And you open your heart. Only to have it ripped from your chest a mere month later. Who knows, maybe I don’t even know what love really is . . . 
I don’t know how you can help me. I know time is the only thing that can really help, but I was hoping maybe you’d have some wise words or maybe be able to make me laugh at least. 
Signed,
Sad, Sad, Sad
 
Darling Sad (x3),
I’m so sorry to hear this. I hate that you’re hurting. I do. But wow, I will say . . . . It is going around! I have no fewer than three friends who’ve been dumped in the last month. What is it? Spring is here? New beginnings? Get rid of the person who kept you warm on those cold winter nights? Whatever it is, I agree. . .  It’s lousy.
Even The Baroness is not immune to heartbreak. It’s true, my darlings. 
Why, just last week, she was planning a romantic Easter get away with someone she truly thought was a lovely man. A man who pursued her. A man with an incredible smile and a sparkle in his eyes who expressed his yearning for her. She liked him. A lot. Promises were made. Professions of adoration and intent were uttered. Hopes were up. Defenses were down. Car hired. Flat rented. Gifts purchased. Then, the day before Prince Charming was scheduled to fly into town, a message. I’m not coming. I want to be with you but I can’t. Not right now. And, almost as an afterthought, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s amazing how little or how much weight these two words can carry. In this case, they didn’t carry much. The damage had been done. 
Actions speak louder than words. Those five words are always true.
Is her heart broken? No. Not broken. But certainly bruised. Can a heart be broken if you were not truly in love? I would say that though one may not have been in love, one can indeed still feel the physical pain that comes from the deep disappointment which follows the severing of a deep connection. There have been studies proving that this is an actual medical condition. It’s called Broken Heart Syndrome . How sad is that?
Some might argue that if it hurts so much, it must have been love.  But that’s not necessarily so. But it does still hurt. You’d think that some brilliant scientist would have discovered a cure for a broken heart by now. But the only thing that heals a broken heart is time. And that takes a while. . . 
None of us are immune to this. If you have traditionally been the dump-er, just wait, you will be the dump-ee in due time. This is the price for opening yourself up to connecting with another human. And sometimes it feels like it’s not worth it. Cats seem like a better option. And just when you’re ready to hang it all up and become a Monk, you go to airport to return a rental car and a young, hot, muscle-bound, dark-haired Adonis chats you up. And you feel like maybe, just maybe, at some point in the not too distant future, you might just be ready to dip your toes in the water of love once again. And you will. We all will. Because that’s what people do.
I advise you to not throw the baby out with the bathwater. To take your time. To do things you love to do. To distract yourself as best you can, but to also feel the pain and honor it as best you can. After all, you should be commended for opening your heart to another. It’s an incredibly fearless and scary thing to do.
The Baroness will try to heed her own words here. But it’s not easy, is it? Surrounding yourself with friends and family and taking care of yourself is key. Our dear Baroness is terribly fortunate to have had meals made, drinks served, flowers delivered and massages given . . . It doesn’t fix it, but it helps. 
One more thing which could possibly help (but is also a bit controversial) is going out and getting some lovin’ from someone else. Admittedly, this is not necessarily the most grown up and healthy thing to do. But boy, oh boy, can it make you feel better. Temporarily. I would not recommend picking up some stranger at the train station, getting drunk on shots of Jägermeister and bringing them home with you, but if you have a ‘friends with benefits’-type situation or an ex you booty call, well, now might be the time. But it can also make you feel worse. You know yourself better than I do, darling. Be careful with you.
You may be feeling quite angry in addition to feeling hurt and that is to be expected. But try not to hold on to the anger. You did love this person for a reason and they made you feel good for a time. Try to remember that feeling. No one can take that away from you. 
We find far too few people in life with whom we truly to connect. Of course that’s why it hurts so much more when one person runs away even after admitting to this special connection. Falling in love can be scary. But I prefer to see it as exhilarating, invigorating and intoxicating. 
It will happen again, my darling. For The Baroness, for you, and for anyone who is brave enough to open themselves up to another deliciously imperfect soul.  
Let’s enjoy these longer days and trust that by Summer we’ll all feel a little bit better. Sending love.
As Ever,
xx The Baroness

Dear Baroness, 
I’m having an argument with my best friend and was hoping you might help us. I think that having separate bedrooms is a grand idea whilst in a relationship and my best friend seems to think this is a recipe for disaster. 
Whose side will you take? 
Signed,  
Gimme My Space, Man
 
Darling Gimme Space, 
You’re right. Case closed. End of story. Your friend is a silly prat and should stop being so needy. 
Are we finished here? I have some 1982 Dom chilling in my ice box just calling for me to uncork and imbibe solo on the divan. . .
Alright, you’re right. The debate’s the thing. Let's dive in . . .
It’s true. I do happen to agree with you. I’ve always dreamed of having separate bedrooms and though I’m currently between marriages (as my grandmamma used to muse), when at last I do again wed, (I’ll tell you a secret. As much as The Baroness enjoys her freedom, she must admit there is something about the institution which she simply adores. A question for the ages, it seems . . .) you can bet your sweet ass I’ll insist upon it. 
But Baroness! What about all the pre and post coital snuggling? The all night spooning? (I hate that term, can someone please come up with another?) The ability to roll over in the middle of the night and crawl on top of your lover? Darlings! You can still do that and have separate bedrooms!
I get why you’d want to share a space. To share a room. To be together. To have the ritual of getting ready for bed and going to bed together. Of waking up together. Every. Single. Night. Sounds cute. Ish. But the reality is that one of you will need to blow your nose, clip your toenails, drool while sleeping, toss and turn, snore (gasp!) and other unsightly yet human things. 
Not to say you have not or will not see and hear these things, but why subject yourself to them unnecessarily? I can hear some of you now, telling me this is ridiculous and we’re all human and denying our various nasty proclivities is not healthy. I do agree that we don’t want to shame anyone here, and I’m not suggesting we do. Let’s all pick and poke and cut and snuffle and snort as we’re wont to do, but NOT IN THE PRESENCE OF OTHERS!
(I could go on here about the abhorrent habit some people have of using the loo with the door open, but I don’t really relish getting into it. Let’s just say there is a door for a reason and if you wish to keep any semblance of romance and mystery alive in your relationship, you’ll keep it closed, for heaven’s sake.)
Some of you also have the strange desire to don inappropriate bed wear (and here I’m talking about sweat pants, old t-shirts, knickers that should have been retired circa 1987, and so on) which I say should be kept for your nights alone. But really, never. Either sleep in the buff or in something divine. There is no in between. 
Surely you can’t tell me that the thought of retiring to your own space, with your own things, where you want them, how you want them, when you want them, does not sound appealing, because it does. 
This does not mean romance is dead! Quite the opposite! When you do invite your partner into your space (which could be once a week or every night but one, it’s all up to you, of course), you are immediately and automatically setting up the expectation for something special, or at the very least, something not quotidian. It does not have to be candles and rose petals and violins every time, but the idea is that you are leaving the mundanity out of the routine for now. It’s about the two (or more?) of you and not the book you’re reading or the show you’re binge watching (solo or together). Which you can do too, of course. On another night. On the sofa. 
Sometimes you want to sleep alone. Sometimes you don’t want to feel the heavy breathing of another on your neck, you want to sleep in peace. You know you do. I do. And sometimes you do want to spend the night in the arms of a strapping, hairy, muscle bound god who will wake you with a knowing smile, a poke in the back and another roll in the hay. 
Then you can leave one another, walk down the hall to your own boudoir (with attached bath, of course), hop in the shower, taking as long as you want, towel off, walk into your walk in closet, choose your favorite dressing gown and go down to breakfast where your mate will greet you with a fresh-breathed smooch, a knowing smile, a slap on the derrière and a plate full of eggs over easy, crisp bacon, 1/2 grapefruit and perhaps even a Bloody Mary along side a cup of Anastasia Kusmi tea. 
Could anything be more perfect? I think not.  It's not about intimacy, my darlings. One needs space and time to one's self in order to be content and fulfilled, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. It's not a failure to want and need your space. It's a briliant thing, really. After all, if you can't enjoy and even relish your time alone, how can you ever truly be content as part of a pair?  So start saving your pennies now, my pets, we'll all be needing larger flats. . .  Who knows? Perhaps, I'll be recommending separate flats next - next door to your lover. Is that even better or just too much? Do weigh in. I may be losing touch with reality as I fantasize about decorating an entire flat in fuschia, feathers and flea market finds with no one to tell me it's just tootootoo much.  Sleep well, darlings. Stretch out and enjoy the silence.  As Ever,
xx The Baroness

Dear Baroness, 
I’m a decent chap. I’m honest, funny, smart. Have been told I’m easy on the eyes by some. I’ve been on and off Tinder now for about a year and though I’ve had a few good experiences, over all it’s been terribly disappointing. I can’t figure out if it’s the caliber of the women or the casual nature the thing. Perhaps I should be one of those men who writes “No ONS” or “not looking for hookups” on my profile, but I prefer to be more mysterious. 
One of the things I’m most concerned about is this whole ‘ghosting’ thing. Who does that? What is it in a person that allows them to think this is okay? Do men do this too? I’m angry and sad and losing faith in dating.
Please help, Baroness.
Signed,  
Looking for Love in all the Wrong Places
 
Darling Looking,
Your name says it all. I think you might be on to something there . . . if you’re indeed looking for love, I would say that Tinder is not the place I would start, darling. But it seems you’re there and want some answers. 
You do know they say nice guys finish last for a reason, right? It’s so much better to be distant, to make her chase you, to be unavailable, to play games, to not communicate . . . surely you got the memo?!
I am telling you, darlings, this really gets in my craw. Can we pleasepleaseplease agree to realize that we are dealing with PEOPLE?! Even though we are on the internet, a place where one can leave all the anonymous trolling, creepy and down right (passive) aggressive messages to anyone anywhere about any asinine thing they want, we need to all step back and remember there are real, live, breathing, feeling people behind the photos and the profiles and no matter how cool and non-needy they seem, they are just as fragile, human and susceptible to pain as you are. And you are, darlings. Especially you tough guys.  
You might think that just because Tinder is an app many equate with one night stands and cheating that different rules apply, but guess what? They don’t. Even people who want to cheat and/or fuck around are not robots. Well, most are not. And the non-robots deserve common decency too. Just because you are non-monogamous and/or a lover of sex and danger does not mean you don’t deserve respect. We all deserve that. And frankly, I respect people who are honest and ask for what they want far more than those who feign good intentions only to be outed as PUAs and MRAs . Cowards, I say.  
If you want to be an asshat and plan to fuck around with people’s minds and emotions, please do us all the favor and be upfront. Honesty is a great thing. And here comes expectation management again . . . if someone writes that they are in town for the night and want to host a Jell-o wrestling match in their room at the airport hotel with a bunch of ‘super hot, under 25 blondes’ and you fit the description and are game, have at it, just don’t expect happily ever . . .
Here’s what I’d like to see more of:
L, 46, I don’t know what the fuck I want. Maybe you have it. Probably not. I don’t want to admit I’m human and have emotions and will treat you fairly poorly, but if you listen to my stories and tell me how great I am, I’ll bring you home to meet mom and dad this weekend.
R, 33,  I’ll wine and dine you, go down on you (and be quite skilled) and laugh at your jokes, and really seem to be enjoying you. I’ll confess I’m polyamorous and even if you don’t run away screaming, I’ll still pull away immediately after the weekend. A few texts and then nothing. That’s how I roll. Oh, and I have cool glasses.
M, 37, I’m a good kisser, very artistic and clever. I’m smart, elusive and totally non-committal but I love to spoon and snuggle and when you sleep over, it will feel like we’re a couple. I’ll probably make you feel like I want more but I don’t. I have an accent that the ladies love.
And, not to leave the ladies out, 
W, 27, I want it all and have it all, but I will not tell you how to get it. You must guess. You will fail. I try to play cool but I get overly emotional after a bottle of wine and may scare you away. But that’s okay because I have another date tonight.
V, 40 I just want to fuck. I’m kind of kinky. But unexperienced. Please have a good job and your own car. I love cats. 
And yes, let’s talk about ghosting. There are a few types. There are the people who unmatch you as soon as you’ve been matched, which could be the result of a twitchy finger and a mistaken right swipe or it could be that they are the type who just like to see how many likes they can get but haven’t the cajones to actually connect to another human.
There are the people who unmatch after a short conversation which proves uninspiring or offensive:
Him: Hi. Her: Hi. Him: How are you? Her: Fine. How are you? Him: Also fine. It’s nice out today. What do you do? Where do you live? Are you from here? Her: UNMATCH
Or 
Her: Hey, I like your car.  Him: Thanks, it’s a rental. Her: Oh. . .  Your profile doesn’t say how tall you are. Are you short? Him: UNMATCH
Then, there is the most painful unmatch – the umatch after you’ve moved to whatsapp and/or have met in person. 
People seem to have several excuses for this: They don’t want the person they have just met to think they are still on Tinder, trolling for more ass, so they unmatch. Some might say it’s too painful to see you still on there if they really like you. 
This was much harder back when they had the ‘last seen’ feature. That could hurt if you really liked someone and they said they were into you but you saw they were active every day. And if you said you were into them, they were probably checking to see if you were still on and imagine the vicious cycle this would create - I’m only checking to see if you’re on and when I’m on it looks like I’m active and you see I’m active and you get sad/mad and maybe really are active, and so on. You can see how this would be challenging. I had a friend who got caught up in this. He was not a natural stalker-type but he said this feature made him nearly go mad. So it’s good it’s gone.
It’s also a little sad because you lose access to their photos when they (or you) unmatch. A friend decided to take a screen shot of all her matches so no matter what happened, she’d have their photos. May seem weird or even creepy, but believe me, it makes for good objectifying fun when out drinking with the girls.  Darling, let me say this. Whether on Tinder or in the real world, you will find louses. You will find people who have no regard for others. Best to avoid them, but often times it’s too late and your heart and/or ego get bruised. Which is no good. Play nice. Be kind. Karma is a bitch and she will find your ass. I promise you that.
You sound like a decent chap. How tall are you? What do you do for a living? What do you drive? Write and let me know and maybe we’ll meet up. For coffee. And a chat. What kind of girl do you think I am?
Good luck in your quest. I’d delete Tinder and start hanging out at bookstores. Just an idea.
As Ever,
xx The Baroness

Hello darlings, 
I know. I’m late. I know it’s only a few days until the 14 th of February. Valentine’s Day . That day when one is supposed to show the one one loves how much one loves them. Or something like that. Flowers. Candy. Cards. Dinner. Lingerie. You get the picture.
I also know there are many places in the world where St. Valentine’s Day is not that big a deal. (I think we can thank those overwrought Americans and their grand greeting card mentality for this, among so many other atrocities.)
Switzerland seems to be one of these places. You can carry on as usual, ignoring your lover in the midst of winter, or you can choose to board the love train, which is sure to win you points. You needn’t adhere to the staid and stale traditions. Please don’t. This is one holiday (I use the term lightly) where creativity is encouraged and surely rewarded. 
I want to emphasize this: Buying your love a dozen, long-stemmed red roses and taking her out to dinner on Sunday night is the most unoriginal and yawn-inspiring thing ever.* Not to seem ungrateful, but really. You can do better. You will do better.
*I would like to mention here that though traditionally, the wining and dining and wooing and arranging of all these things has fallen primarily into the laps of men, it needn’t. Really. It’s true, I swoon when a man is an old-fashioned, charming, etiquette-brimming, chivalrous one. That’s hard to beat. 
But it’s also hard to be the one who always has to do this. The one who is expected to take care of everything and plan it all. Not to mention pay for it all. That doesn’t seem very modern, does it? Though it’s certainly incredibly challenging to be a woman in this world, being a man is tough too. The constant potential rejection, for one. That’s got to be exhausting. I’m so torn. I love the tradition, but I also see the need not to expect men to always have to do the wooing. And it can be fun to take the lead. Perhaps we’ll have to talk about this another time in more detail. Yes. We will. Please send me a letter. Or I’ll be forced to just rant. And you know how much I love to do that.
The point is, random acts of love and lust are far more interesting and appreciated than those which are deemed appropriate or necessary on a certain day. If you want to practice such random acts that include the institution, then be my guest. After all, if it’s important to your darling to get the requisite roses, bubbly and a heart-shaped box of chocolates on the 14 th , then you should do it. Seriously. As my mother always says, “If you love someone and they need to be kissed 37 times a day and told ‘I love you’ 68 times, you do it. You may not need the same thing in return or even understand it, but it doesn’t cost anything and it makes them happy. And when your partner is happy, you’re happy.” Words to live by, certainly.
The Baroness is very low maintenance that way. She merely needs a kiss on the forehead before sleep, a slap on the derrière as you walk out the door, a wink across a crowded room and your complete and utter adoration. Simple.
Getting back to the business at hand, I do have a small list of things which might inspire you. I know they’ve inspired me. 
Have you ever wondered what sex might be like with more intimacy? Or with more kink? Or . . . (gasp) both? I think I’ve stumbled onto something here . . .
My new friend, Sidonia offers so many tantalizing services, you’ll likely want to try them all. These are a few things I’ve picked just for you, my darlings:
Tantra for Lovers - a 3 hour guided tantric journey for couples, where she and her colleague coach, massage and accompany you through a pre-negotiated tantric adventure, customized to the wishes of the individual couples. This can include parallel massages, playing with closeness/distance between the couple, body to body oil explorations, coaching for mutual genital massages, rope bondage, etc.
How exciting would that be? Who needs roses when you can have Tantra? 
Another thing she’s offering is A Rope Massage Intro Class for couples: a two-hour introduction and coaching including rope bondage, Tantra massage, and light BDSM in the bedroom. 
Here is the website, www.sinnesoase.ch . It’s only in German for now, but Sidonia speaks perfect English and encourages you to contact her with any questions at [email protected] . Do it. She’s lovely. And then I want to hear all about it.
And, as the Baroness is terribly interested in experiencing what you do, she will too be treating herself to a little time with Sidonia. Remember ladies, this is not just for the men! What could be better than learning about your own body with a little help from an expert … think of how much better things could be with your next lover. Everyone wins when we know what we like and can communicate it to our partners. And . . . I simply must recommend a toy for you. I’m having such fun researching and writing about sex toys, I might have to start writing reviews for you! (Hmm, now there’s an idea.)
It’s called the We Vibe. We. Us. Together. Yes. A vibrator for you both. The woman wears it and you/she can control it. But, wait – there’s more! You can get in on the action as well. She can wear it while you’re in flagrante delicto and you’ll also get to feel the motion of the ocean. How wonderful is that? 
There is a remote control which could certainly inspire hours of fun, AND AND AND It has an app. Yes. An app. For your phone. Which you can use to control the We Vibe FROM ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD.
Your love could be thousands of miles away and you could still play with one another. I mean, come on… If this thing works as well as I’ve been told it does (I’m still waiting for mine … ahem) then your mind will be blown and long distance relationships may become the new trend. I’m all for it. 
I recommend you go directly to the Sensuelle website or to the shop in Zurich and pick one up today. Now that’s a reason to celebrate St. Valentine’s Day, darlings! I’ll leave you lovers with a poem I wrote. Age 8. Not so very long ago:
Roses are red,  Buttercups are yellow. When I think of you, My knees turn to Jell-o .
Yes, it seems The Baroness has always had a way with words.
As ever
  xx The Baroness
P.S. Don’t forget to write to me! [email protected]
and for old fashioned love letters, The Baroness Ron Orp St. Jakobstrasse 8004 Zürich

Dear Baroness, I know this is normally your territory, but I feel like ranting. Hope you don’t mind. I want to rant about cocks. Especially big cocks. Just when did it become so important to have huge cock? (Or a porn cock, as my friends back home like to call it. PC for short. We used to call this guy from high school PC and I don’t think he ever found out why. Not that he’d mind, probably. And it’s not like we all slept with him. You could just see it in his trousers. It was unavoidable. Tall guy. Khakis. Skinny.)
Why is it that men think this is so important? It’s not! It’s not! Ouch! I mean really. There’s big and then there’s big. I feel sorry for the guys with porn cocks. They’re probably not even getting as much action as the more average-sized dudes.  It’s not like they can do anything about it, but I just want to say that men with average-sized cocks should not be sad. They should think of all the women they can comfortably please without injuring them!
I don’t really have a question, Baroness. Sorry. What are your thoughts about all this? 
Signed, 
A Lover of Mediocrity
 
Darling Mediocrity Lover, 
I’m so glad you wrote. We were just having this conversation the other night, me and the girls. Over a few (12) glasses of wine. While not everyone shares your opinion, (see most gay males), many do. 
It’s all about chemistry, isn’t it? No that’s not right. It’s not chemistry. It’s biology. Right yes. Science is not my strong suit, darlings. Surprise, surprise. 
Surprises can be fabulous. Of course, they can also lead to disappointment, but as I said in my last column, expectation management is not such a bad thing, and in this case, let’s say erasing all expectations is a great place to start. 
There are men with smaller than average cocks who are far better in the sack than the men with larger than average ones. This could be because they have developed other valuable skills and/or they are highly evolved and intelligent and realize that it’s not the size of the boat, it’s the motion of the ocean. (Apologies. You saw that coming, didn’t you? I couldn’t resist.)
Many men with these porn cocks, as you so aptly call them, have had the luxury of sitting on their laurels and expecting that their sheer mass will deliver amazing results without much effort. How boring.  
And, as I think you were getting at, dear writer, the large ones can indeed hurt. Our insides are not an infinite chasm of warm, snuggly goodness, waiting to accommodate every size and shape. There is an end to the vagina. It’s called the cervix and when it’s poked, it is not a pleasant feeling. 
You men might feel as though you’ve conquered something; that you've reached the peak of the pussy once you’ve bottomed out, but please darlings, this is nothing to be proud of. Again, it’s merely science. One does not have to be smuggling a Coke can in one’s trousers to be able to have had this affect. Combine a short and tilted uterus and the right position with an average-sized penis and you can just as easily make this woman wince in pain, be shocked out of the magic moment and push you off like the dead bear atop Leo in The Revenant . 
Every cock is unique, as is every pussy, and, just like people, not all fit together. Big feet only mean big shoes and big hands may not be a size indicator either, though big, strong hands have their own desirable uses, one could argue. 
Another consideration is the almighty G spot. Many times, the massive missiles pass right by without even so much as a wink. They fill you up and undoubtedly can feel great, but the chances of having a vaginal orgasm are far less than with a more average dick. 
I don’t want to make you Ron Jeremys feel like we don’t love you and your appendages. We still love you. You look good naked in the shower, feel fabulous in hand and you especially look good while semi or fully erect in trousers. (Mind you, this is not only the territory of the well-hung, I invite you all to give it a try.) 
I miss the high-waisted, tight jeans men wore back in the 80s. At the time I found it somewhat repulsive, but a few years back, while watching VH-1 Classics on a trans-Atlantic flight, there was Steve Perry, singing Don’t Stop Believin’ , leaving nothing to the imagination, and I was smitten. Not by the song or the performance but by the jeans. I know. . . Perhaps this is information that should have forever remained locked away in the Baroness’ diary, but I feel it’s important to share my stories with you. It’s how we bond.
Just as women with large breasts are supposed to be more feminine and sexy, men with big dicks are supposed to be more masculine and virile. It’s a bunch of hooey. 
We’ve all got what we’re given (well, most of us) and we do the best we can, don’t we? Life is hard enough without having to worry about all this nonsense. Your time would be better spent learning to be a good kisser. That skill is more directly linked to your horizontal prowess than the size of your cock. Ask any woman. 
Now all of you average Joes go out and dance a jig. I proclaim today Average Cock Appreciation Day. Go stand in front of the mirror, drop your drawers and give yourself some love. The Baroness gives you permission.
As Ever,
xx The Baroness

Dear Baroness, 
I need your advice. Here’s my situation: I keep meeting men. Nice men. Online and in real life. Sometimes we just chat, and sometimes we actually meet in person. A few I’ve gone out with several times. And one guy I actually started dating. I think. I would call it dating, at least. 
The problem is, I keep meeting these nice men who seem to think it’s important to make these promises, or drop these hints. They say things that make me have expectations, like, “We should go away together for a weekend.” Or “What kind of perfume do you like?” and, while window shopping, “Which one do you want?” (referring to jewelry, or lingerie or clothes, whatever).
It is weird that I get my hopes up? That I actually look forward to a trip away or a gift? And then, when it doesn’t happen, I get really disappointed. Like a little kid. 
Do all men do this? Or just the ones I meet? Because these are not isolated incidents. It seems like more and more men are promising things and not putting their money where their mouth is. Is this a pick up artist thing?
I know that in the scheme of things, this is not such a big deal, but it’s really bothering me and I’ve talked to some other girlfriends who are feeling this way too. 
What’s the deal? Should I lower my expectations or find better men?
Signed, 
Hopes up Hillary
 
Darling Hillary,
We’ve all done it. Over promised and under delivered. It’s with the best of intentions, really, you must admit. When someone says they want to do something for (or to) you, it’s usually because they really do. Some people (not just men) are indeed manipulative and have ulterior motives and are just trying to throw you off your game or make you feel less secure, not unlike the concept of negging (a topic for another day), but on the whole, I would say, that most people are good and well-intentioned.
I had an old boyfriend who told me he needed to use ‘expectation management’ with me, because I got my hopes up when he thought he was merely throwing out ideas or mentioning things that would be fun. I did not like that; being told I had an issue with expectations. But it did make me stop and think. We still joke about it, years later. I even bought the domain at one point and was going to have a brilliantly clever website called www.expectationmanagement.com, though I really had no clue of what I was going to make of it. So of course, that idea – an idea begun with the best of intentions, at least for me creatively – was thrown out with the bathwater. The domain is up for grabs last I knew. Someone please purchase and do something with it. I implore you.
When I did the Baroness’ Sexy Holiday Gift Guide , I had several gentlemen allude and straight out tell me they were going to get me something from the list. It’s now January. Christmas and Hanukkah are long over. And I’m still waiting. Are they jerks? No. Did they have good intentions? Yes. Were they leading me on? No. Not intentionally. Might they have been teasing? Perhaps. Am I hurt? No. I didn’t really take any of them that seriously. But, I will say, that there is a part of a person, that when told they may receive a gift, lights up and does naturally have a level of expectation. It’s only human, don’t you think? Some just handle the disappointment better than others.
Having no expectations is something I’ve tried. I still try. And it can work. The problem with this is that it seems sad. Like you’ve future-sabotaged your own potential joy. Well, that might be a bit dramatic but you get the point.
It’s tough too, I think, because of the media. In movies and TV, men buy women extravagant gifts. They send them dresses to wear with notes attached saying “Put this on. Meet me in the lobby at eight, gorgeous.” So Pretty Woman . It reeks of the whole Cinderella complex , the idea that women are just sitting, waiting for a man to come and make everything better. And the way he can make everything better is to buy her things, take her places and rescue her from her humdrum existence. Ugh. How turn of the century (not this one). Whether or not we want to admit it, most women have this desire lurking somewhere down deep, because we grew up with it. We watched all these fragile women characters, who were always beautiful and perfect, and helpless, pine for a man, and eventually one showed up and fixed everything. And she never had to think or do or be anything other than beautiful and agreeable and thankful for the rest of her years (in a castle, of course).
Here’s my advice. Expect less. Buy your own damn jewelry and lingerie and sex toys. Take yourself on trips. Don’t wait for a man to rescue you, BUT when one does treat you, buy you a gift or the like, you can be happy and thankful and feel spoiled and appreciated, even loved - not because it’s from a man, but because it’s a gift from someone who actually cares about you. 
Don’t get me wrong. I still swoon every time Cary Grant enters the frame, and dream of him wooing and sweeping me off my feet, and likely appreciate chivalry and manners and etiquette much more than the next gal, but that doesn’t get you anywhere other than being at home alone on a Friday night, dressed to the nines, just waiting for the phone to ring. And that ain't no way to live. 
Manage those expectations, Hillary. And if it’s that important to you, be straight. Say to the dudes, “Hey, do you mean that?” “Are we doing gifts?” “Shall I pack a bag?” Etc… It may seem less romantic than a man being able to read your mind and whisk you away, but it will save you a lot of headache and heartache in the long run. I’m sure of it. Oh, and you’ll also be acting like a self-sufficient grown up. Which is a good thing, I’m told.
Until then, I’ll be thinking about my Valentine’s gift list (which is coming up in a mere month!) and will make it perfectly clear what I want and from whom. Which is not at all romantic, I realize. See, I too am still trying to find the happy medium. I welcome ideas and comments. Really. Do send them along. How can we have low expectations, without just losing hope? How can we still believe in romance and surprises if we’re constantly disappointed? How can people mention things in passing and not be held to the assumption that it binds them to an action? So much to think about . . .
Under promise and over deliver. I’ve been working on this for years. Not so easy, surely, but with practice, one can get quite good at it. Surely a good motto by which to live. 
Now go buy yourself a bauble. Just think - at least you’ll be sure to get the perfect one and not have to take it back . . .
 As Ever, 
 xx The Baroness