Saved for Rainy Days

Sometimes it takes a storm to realise that your life has become smaller than your dreams. While the rain hammered the city and everyone else disappeared indoors, Mariana stood laughing in the downpour — not because of the weather but because of something her friend Sara had said. With one absurd story, half joke and half revelation, Sara had opened a door Mariana didn’t know existed. And once the thought slipped in — that she deserved more than “good enough” — there was no turning back.

And that was why she now stood on Södergatan with a boarding pass to Fiji in her canvas tote. Not metaphorically — literally. While others trudged through November, Mariana decided to place her hopes somewhere the Man Store could never reach: on the other side of the world, where the ocean was turquoise and the future still felt unwritten. It was a choice that brought her a profound sense of liberation, she thought. If you’re going to gamble on happiness, you might as well choose a place where the odds are tinged with saltwater and sunscreen. Her choice to break free from the ordinary should inspire us all to seek our own liberation.

“The Staircase to Mr Perfect

I started on Floor Number One,
where men had jobs — well, that’s half done.
They talked about work with a serious tone,
and texted their mothers on speakerphone.

Floor Two was better — men who looked fine,
with jawlines sharp and shirts tucked in line.
But beauty fades and hair might fall…
So up the stairs I went — that’s all.

On Floor Three, they helped at home,
folded towels, swept floors with chrome.
Still, something whispered in my head:
“Laundry’s nice — but romance’s dead.”

Floor Four loved children, dogs and cats,
read bedtime stories in funny hats.
They cared, they shared, they nurtured dreams —
But could they kiss like movie scenes?

Floor Five was heaven: hearts on fire,
romantic men with genuine desire.
Candles, sunsets — passion grand…
But I still climbed, as if it were planned.

And then Floor Six — the final test.
I opened the door, expecting the best.
But all I found was a sign that read:
“Women. Are. Impossible.”
Enough said.

Down I rode, slightly annoyed,
yet oddly proud — not unemployed.
Who wants perfection pre-arranged?
Give me the unexpected, wild, unplanned.

‘Cause climbing floors will drive you crazy —
Love’s not found by being lazy.
Sometimes Prince Charming won’t appear —
until you just…
Book a flight out of here.”
Malmö. October 2025

Saved for Rainy Days - The Joyful Story about Ideal Men and Women

Mariana's excitement for her upcoming trip to Fiji was palpable, like a beacon of light amid the lead-grey clouds. Despite the dark and bleak surroundings, with rain pouring down and Södergatan lying empty, Mariana's spirits were high. It had been more than a week since the sun had peeked through the clouds, and the forecast for the coming days looked no better. But what did Mariana care when she had her travel documents to Fiji in her canvas bag, ready for the adventure of a lifetime?

The very next afternoon, the flight from Kastrup via Los Angeles was scheduled to depart—28 hours away—followed by sunshine and salty swims for three weeks, combined with a bit of remote work. Mariana was not in any distress; she was a cloud developer, creating applications that utilised cloud service platforms and infrastructure. Her work was not just well paid, but also a testament to her professional success, and the flexibility of remote working allowed her to extend her stay in Fiji.

If there was any distress, it lay in her private life. Men who fit into the life of an independent woman were few and far between, at least within her circle of acquaintances. That was partly how it had all started—this and the weather. A yearning for something more had begun to stir in the back of her mind. The dream prince, as her friends jokingly called the one who would be worthy of sharing their lives. Of course, Mariana had gone on dates now and then, tried a couple of dating sites, but she was probably far too picky. Besides, she was busy with work.

Mariana burst out laughing—so suddenly that, had anyone heard her, they might have thought she was mad, for no sane person laughs in weather like this. Nor should the upcoming trip cause such amusement. No, the laughter came from recalling the joke that had led her to buy a ticket to Fiji. Sara’s funny story—an old one, really, but it was her personal way of telling it that nearly made her friends die of laughter. Sara worked as a stand-up comedian, so she knew what she was doing. Mariana could hear her monologue in her head. They had, as usual, been discussing their thoughts on men—men other than the dull ones they usually met, ordinary Scania guys with good jobs but lacking that little extra spark. Deep down, that was partly what Mariana hoped might be found in Fiji. Remote in the Pacific, families with children weren’t drawn there, and she could tolerate the occasional retiree. Fiji mainly attracts tourists seeking sun, swimming, relaxation, and luxury—Australians, New Zealanders, Americans, and not least, people of their own age. These were the people Mariana and her friends often talked about, sharing their experiences and frustrations in the dating world.

The monologue pushed forward, piercing through memories of Lukas, Åke, Stephen, Torsten, and all the other male acquaintances who probably wanted her closer and now intruded uninvited, like the rain.

Now, girls, I shall tell you about the marketplace of impossible dreams,” Sara began. I had heard about the place but thought it sounded a bit too analogue, yet I figured I’d give it a try since all the other venues only offered blockheads and sex-obsessed blokes without any self-awareness.

So I decided to visit the Man Store. Just the name piqued my curiosity, and it’s located in the old EPA building on Södergatan in Malmö—the one with Sweden’s first escalator. Enhetsprisaktiebolaget, known as EPA, sold products at low prices, but the products did not last. Perhaps their old slogan also applied to the prince market: ‘Sturdy stuff for smart girls.’ This was a place where women could 'shop' for men, and it was here that Mariana's journey to Fiji began. The Man Store, a satirical take on the concept of finding a life partner, was a place where women could 'shop' for men, each floor offering a unique selection of men with different qualities. The purpose of the Man Store was to mock the idea of finding a life partner as if they were products in a store, highlighting the absurdity of such a concept.

Everyone giggled with delight because, naturally, they assumed that ‘sturdy stuff’ did not refer to what the guys might have between their ears. Even if size doesn’t matter as much as men think, that doesn’t stop the topic from being fascinating.

The entrance was subtle and unremarkable, hardly resembling the door to a department store. Above it, a simple brass plate read Quo vadis—a Latin phrase meaning ‘Where are you going?’

The door was locked, but I had been instructed to enter my personal code on a small panel beside it. You couldn’t just wander in; only pre-booked visits were permitted. Thank goodness. Choosing a life partner isn’t a group assignment.

Inside, the stairwell was just as anonymous, but on the wall hung a sign:

Welcome, and at the Man Store, there's just one simple rule: You decide, and behind each door, all candidates are displayed in detail. It was a concept so absurd that it was almost comical, a bizarre twist in the search for love.

Each floor offers a unique selection of men. The door is open — step inside — but once you do, there is only one way out — through the other side. Either you’ve found what you’re looking for and agreed on a date, or you leave alone, and our paths part. If the description on the sign outside the door is not enticing enough, move on to the next floor, where the men have better qualities than the previous one. It's a one-way journey, a decision with no turning back.

You may go up as many floors as you wish, but you can never come back down.

I had nothing to lose except the registration fee. I took a deep breath and went up half a flight of stairs. I adjusted my outfit and pulled a pocket mirror from my handbag to check my appearance. Not that I knew why—according to the website, I wouldn’t meet anyone in person, only read information and look at photos. Respectable ones, according to the website. The anticipation was palpable, the nerves tingling as I prepared to enter the Man Store.

Outside a green door on Floor 1 was a sign—“Men with jobs” was the laconic message. Sounded good—not having to take on some financial responsibility.

Sara smiled but shook her head.
A good start... but I naturally wanted to see the next floor. When I reached it, the door had a code lock. Once the door closed behind me, there was no going back. Smart types. A little further on was another sign, like the one downstairs.

Floor 2 — ‘Men with jobs and who look good.’

“Not bad!” I thought, but I had assumed they wouldn’t offer unattractive men. “I’ll go up one more floor and see what it offers.”

Next floor, the same—another code lock. The message on the green door was equally succinct:
Floor 3 — ‘Men with jobs, who look good, and help out at home.’
Okay, but that description was more of a baseline requirement. Now my pulse is starting to rise—and not just because of the stairs.

“Wow. But what if it gets even better upstairs?” I wondered and climbed another floor.

Same setup, but the sign now reads:
“Floor 4 — ‘Men with jobs, who look good, help out at home, and love children.’”

“It’s not like I walk around thinking about kids all the time, but deep inside, there’s a longing for a complete life. The downside is that I’ve seen how some of my childhood friends live with absent husbands, so this sounded truly promising. This is incredible! But… I felt I just had to see Floor 5. Maybe it was even better, so I hurried up," I said.

On the fifth floor, the same procedure—but an even more tempting sign:
‘Men with jobs, who look good, help out at home, love children, and are romantic.’

Now my hands were trembling, and I was this close to slipping inside. Perfection! That was what I sought. But deep inside, a whisper:
“What if Floor 6 is EVEN better?”

I hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and reached the very top.

Same green door with a code lock, and inside another sign:

Floor 6 — “There are no men on this floor. This elevator door exists to prove that women are impossible to satisfy.”
Below it, an LED display reads:
You are visitor number 14,823,751. Thank you for your visit, and have a lovely day.

All I could do was step into the lift and exit onto the street on the other side of the block. I was speechless, realising the futility of my journey.

Mariana burst out laughing so hard she almost toppled over, but she managed to save her canvas bag from falling into a puddle. It wasn’t Sara’s story itself, but the follow-up. On the other side of the street, according to Sara, is the Women's Store.

Floor 1 — a sign read: “Women who look good and like sex.”

The staircase leading to Floor 2 and higher appeared unused, judging by the spiderwebs and dusty steps.

When Mariana finished laughing, a thought crossed her mind: “Why settle for just enough when the whole world is out there?” She paused at the intersection at Gustav Adolf's Torg. Rain streamed down her cheeks, but the tears were from laughter.

“I’m not going floor by floor,” she whispered to herself. “I’m taking the plane straight there.”

Where others saw November, Mariana saw July.

And on the plane, on her way to Fiji, she found herself seated next to a fellow passenger who was definitely not available at the Man Store.

But that is an entirely different story—and belongs in the future. It was a story of realisation, of understanding that the Man Store was just a facade, a mirage of societal expectations.