Sep 16 2008
Making new friends everywhere I go
Something about me compels complete strangers to approach me and confide things I wish they’d save for their priest or therapist.
While awaiting my daughter’s release from her daily prison, a woman I have never seen before in my life walked up to me. The first thing out of her mouth was “Are you married?”
Last time someone introduced themselves by asking that question, it was preparatory to a wife-swapping proposition, so I already dreaded the rest of this conversation. Clearly, however, this was one of those pseudo-questions to create the illusion of interest to justify the hours of me-me-me to follow, as I barely got out the “N—” before she launched into an account of her own romantic situation.
For some unfathomable reason, she too is single.
She proceeded to share with me her checklist of qualities the only man good enough for her will possess. “First, of course, he simply MUST love my kids. And my pomeranian. He has to be handsome and tall. Kind, and with a great sense of humor. Never married and no kids of his own because I don’t need his baggage cluttering up my life. Oh, and rich. Like, a doctor or lawyer or a business mogul.”
I responded, “I happen to know that guy.” (He’s a young surgeon, so he’s not rich yet, but give him five or ten years.) “Unfortunately for you,” I added, “he’s not looking for a self-absorbed, social-climbing leech.”
I think she may have been offended. Go figure.
I read something fairly recently that articulated my long-held feeling that a person has to be whole, fully formed, complete, and worthwhile in their own right before they can do justice to The Big Relationship. (Hence my repeated declarations that I’m unfit for human companionship. I freely admit I need a whole lot of work.)
In a nutshell, this article stated people spend years compiling a list of requirements for their perfect mate and give no thought to what they themselves have to offer to another person. They wait years for the man or woman of their dreams, only to discover they don’t measure up to this paragon of virtue’s standards of suitability, so The Big Relationship isn’t going to happen after all. Then they get all bitter and nasty because they were cheated out of the happiness they so richly deserve.
If you want the perfect guy, you’d better be the perfect gal. Start by looking at that list of requirements for the perfect mate and strive to develop them IN YOURSELF. Mr. Perfect isn’t sitting around pining for a busted fragment of a woman to make him whole. He’s a popular guy. He can pick and choose.
If you think you deserve him more than any other woman, you better be the woman HE deserves.
Until then, PLEASE do not expect my sympathy because he hasn’t called. I have none.
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September 16th, 2008 at 9:31 pm
I responded, “I happen to know that guy.” (He’s a young surgeon, so he’s not rich yet, but give him five or ten years.) “Unfortunately for you,” I added, “he’s not looking for a self-absorbed, social-climbing leech.”
ROFLMAO! You’ve got to use that chunk of dialogue in a book some day. :D
Anyway, yeah. It’s amazing how many people design the perfect mate in their minds, but never give any thought to becoming the sort of person their perfect mate would have any interest in. The male version is the greasy guy with two days’ growth of stubble and a huge beer gut hanging out from under his stained wife-beater, whose sole topics of conversation encompass football, fishing, beer, farts, and the wonderfulness which is himself, who’s absolutely not interested in any woman who doesn’t look exactly like Angelina Jolie and have at least three or four mil in the bank, which she’s willing to share with him sans pre-nup. [eyeroll]
Yeah. He should get together with that woman you ran into — they’d be perfect for each other, if only they’d realize.
Angie
September 17th, 2008 at 11:18 am
It’s no wonder that guy thinks he can get an Angelina Jolie when she marries a Billy Bob Thornton!
I notice that all the time, supermodel-looking women (and sometimes even actual supermodels) with extremely physically unappealing men. These men might very well have fabulous personalities and be wonderful partners, but the casual observer sees only “hot chick, skeevy guy” and sees no reason he can’t be that skeevy guy.
Blurg. I need to burrow into my TBR and osmose some romance. Too much dwelling on real-life human interactions saps my romantic optimism.
September 19th, 2008 at 12:26 pm
You want romantic optimism? I’ll GIVE you romantic optimism.
Once in a very great while, a busted fragment of a woman (or, in my particular case, a busted fragment of a girl) finds Mr. Perfect, and he’s willing to marry her and then wait patiently for said busted fragment to get her shit together.
Going on fifteen years now. And in the meantime, he just gets more Perfect. Yay for romantic optimism?