Memo To Steve Jobs: The 10 Apps Women Really Want

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Just in time for V-Day, here’s what many of the women I know would really like to see on their Iphones:

BBABS

The Bad Boy Anti-Lock Braking System. We’ve all dated one, the bad boy whose elusiveness, vagueness, black leather or combination of same drove us to distraction. A system to alert us before we chase the next one might come in handy. Mine was Zoran, the moody Serb in black leather trousers, his desk littered with letters and cards and books inscribed with yearning by the  previous week’s conquests. “I vil not be faithfool,” he warned me. And I didn’t listen because….?

Manfax

Like Carfax, but much more useful. How many times, exactly, has this particular model been in the shop — whether therapy, rehab, AA, Narcanon, or maybe all of the above? How many dings to his bumper has he disguised? He’s crashed and burned a few times, as have we all. Better to know about it before you buy.

SzMtrs

Sorry, but it does. If we can measure the atmosphere on Jupiter, there’s a way to know, before it’s too late, this most crucial of data.

PoachAlert

You know they’re out there. You might — slut! — be one of them. A poacher, cruising the office, the subway, the bars, anywhere, for an attached man who’s a little…bored, unhappy, lonely, self-pitying. Like a shark seeking blood in the water, the poacher can’t wait to snatch a man away from his girlfriend or wife. She so doesn’t deserve him. We all need a little help knowing when these wretches are homing on on our man.

PoachAlert 3.0

A post-marital upgrade, rising in its heat-seeking ability with each additional child you share with the man you’re tracking.

ZipChip

For the man who just can’t seem to keep a lock on his fly, this app lets you know when to worry.

IDD

I Do Dishes. Men who happily fill and empty the dishwasher or, even better, wash, dry and put away all those bloody dishes, no questions asked.

HDL

The honey-do list. A classic.

HILT

“Honey, I’d love to.” HDL 3.0

RTC

I’ve always thought it would be so much simpler if, like Butterball turkeys with that little pop-up tab that signals when they’re done, guys came with some sort of incontrovertible proof that, dammit, they are ready to commit. Filled with the men — OK,  man — who’s psyched at the thought of Sundays with the in-laws, filing jointly and picking up his wet towels off the floor.