The Perfect Man
I will take advantage that Alin is not home and write this.
The perfect man doesn’t exist
How old are you? 20, 25, 35? Are you single or married? Are you happy? No, really now, are you really happy? For the younger idealists out there, let me burst your bubble: the perfect man does not exist. He is mix of daddy issues with hollywoodian stereotypes, some love mishaps and bam! you picture that dreamy, warm, smart, sensitive, but also fuck-me-on-the-kitchen-counter-no-questions-asked kind of guy and think it’s a matter of time till you find him.
Well .. no! You won’t find THAT man. You will find raw sex beasts unable to make a simple syllogism, you will find mamma’s boys in their 30s, you will find frustrated assholes desperately trying to impose themselves just because they cannot rise up to your level, and the list goes on. At a certain point you will start to put them all in boxes dismissing males more and more often simply because you are exhausted.
So what does exist?
If you are down that path I sincerely advise you to stop and turn back. Not all penis-holders fall in those categories named above. But they won’t probably check all ticks from your list either.
What to do?
How do you choose? You obviously have to compromise, but where?
I cannot tell you where in your case. What I can tell you is what I did.
In my humble existence I had a few long relationships. Some more, other less successful. I have kept contact with most of them. The ones that always gives me pleasure to talk to and feel reacher, happier, more peaceful after I do, have all this one thing in common. Are you ready?
In order for everything to make sense, just let me say I am NOT a morning person. In fact me and mornings are parallel lines, better yet, nonplanar lines – means we wonder somewhere in the vast space, never even being aware of each other’s existence. So, when I wake up, I always have this decomposed face, totally unfriendly look and limited vocabulary – coffee.
To mix some Freud into this, my mom or dad have always put up with my sour gherkin face in the morning.
So, what have I always appreciated in the guy next to me?
His ability of being warm and hugging in the morning, just when I got out of bed and my face looked like a Picasso painting. And better yet, him not overwhelming me with words and leaving me be in my corner until I sipped my coffee and a smile along with it.
This, my gawl-pals, has always set the good ones apart from the assholes. For me. Just saying.