(1) When she is in heat... the traits of a killer carnivore.
(2) When she is not in heat... the traits of a florist who grows his own flowers and/or to look smoochy on the dance floor.
(3) Money. Shit loads of it.
(4) Unanimous approval from her friends.
(5) When in heat... he must boast an IQ of three, know how to grunt with abandon and have a hairy chest.
(6) When not in heat... he must be able to translate the French words in a menu and know roughly where Australia is.
(7) He must be willing to live and die for her exclusively and weep at the movies when Leonardo Di Caprio weeps.
(8) To understand and accept that he can NEVER, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever soooo be The One like George Clooney is The One because Amal says he is The One and she knows what is what because she is a lawyer and everything and wears the same lipstick as her.
(9) To believe without question that J. K. Rowling, without any personal experiences worth shit to base it on, conceived, planned and wrote every word of the Harry Potter series totally unaided under candlelight in a freezing hovel as her baby child starved in its lonely cot; and wrote it all with aching fingers on a old busted typewriter... and all because she wanted only to drink coffee in lonely restaurants... just like her. And not a living soul came to her aid even though her dad ran his own firm and her sister part-owned a fashionable restaurant in Edinburgh that she frequently visited.
(10) To accept wihtout question that how ever hard he may try... and she expects him to do just that 24/7...he will never, ever, ever, EVER... soooooooooooo be half the man daddy is.