You know what, I’m tired of complaining. In truth, I’m tired of a lot of things, which may be why I’ve decided to cut off my hair (again). But let’s take one thing at a time shall we? Yesterday I wrote all about my dating superstitions. But what about self-fulfilling prophecies? If I constantly say to myself (and others) that guys these days aren’t men, that the art of dating has been lost, that romance is dead, and yes, that guys with R names are bad news…well isn’t that all I’m going to see? Isn’t that what I’m going to expect? And when it happens, will I fight it and demand more? Of course not. Because I expected nothing less. Or really I should say, nothing more.
I’m not about to buy into the opinion that men are weak because women allow them to be. That’s a cop out. But I will say that if guys are chewing me up and spitting me out, I am not entirely blameless. I went home with every single one of those guys because I wanted to. Blame it on the alcohol if you’d like, but I’ve never looked back in the cold, sober light of day and said, I wish I hadn’t. I may have realized it was a mistake, but only because it didn’t end the way I wanted it to. But I couldn’t have forced any one of them to make anything more of it than they wanted. If all they wanted was sex, then it was going to be sex or nothing at all. Our desires matched up right until the post-sex part. The only thing I can really do differently is decide that sex isn’t as important as finding that right guy.
And dammit, call me an idealist, call me naïve, but I actually believe it’s going to happen. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Prince Charming is going to fall out of the sky into my lap. I’m not sure I even believe that there is such thing as a Prince Charming. But I do believe that there is a guy out there that, with all of his quirks, faults, history, and charms can fit with all that I am. It won’t be like puzzle pieces. I doubt that we will click like perfect halves of a whole and I certainly don’t believe in love at first sight. But I do think that I will meet someone who will want to try as hard as I will. He won’t always give me flowers on my birthday, and I won’t always understand why that thing at work bothers him so much. But he’ll laugh at my jokes and rub my shoulders when I’m stressed. I’ll scratch his back and buy his favorite beer for the big game.
It’s not the stuff of fairy tales, but in the real fairy tales, Little Red Riding Hood gets eaten by the Big Bad Wolf, so I figure I’m running ahead of the crowd. The way I figure it, if I’m going to spend the rest of my life, or even a large chunk of time, with someone, the fireworks are going to die out pretty quickly. Those butterflies from the first date will eventually settle down, the spark will become something less spontaneous and more of a slow burn (if we’re lucky). And when that happens, we’re going to have to just be with each other. No filters, no fancy masks. He’s going to see me without my makeup, curled up in a ball while I fight off a gross flu. I’m going to see him when he’s really too tired for sex for once in his life. And that has to be okay. Because when all the bright lights, smooth lines, and fancy dress falls away, that’s when real love happens. And I believe in this because I’ve actually been there. It wasn’t just comfort , safety, or familiarity, it was love. And if I can find it once, I believe I can find it again, even if it’s not exactly the same. In truth, it never is. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less. It just means that the people involved are different, and since I’m different than what I was then, that sounds just about right to me.