Dear Mr. Fantasy
By Patty Clark
I had always felt like something was missing in my life. I didn’t know if it was a person, a puppy, or a cream puff. All those years I waited for Prince Charming to show up and thought the poor guy might be caught in traffic or something. When he didn’t come, I ended up mating with the souls of Smirnoff, stuffed crust pizzas, and a few mild hangovers.
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I had always felt like something was missing in my life.
I didn’t know if it was a person, a puppy, or a cream puff. All those years I waited for Prince Charming to show up and thought the poor guy might be caught in traffic or something. When he didn’t come, I ended up mating with the souls of Smirnoff, stuffed crust pizzas, and a few mild hangovers.
Where’s Prince Charming?
For a long time after my divorce, my relationship status was single, waiting for a miracle.
I was told there were plenty of fish in the sea, but was looking for someone more like the woolly mammoth minus the extreme body hair, but who were such exemplary and legendary creatures. I did learn that no relationship is ever a waste of time. If it didn’t bring me what I want, it taught me what I didn’t want.
Surely I didn’t want by body becoming a broken down prisoner to an ever-shrinking list of options.
Destiny decides who we meet. But we decide who stays.
I started the study of astrological compatibility then relied on the stars and planets to direct me. That strategy changed after reading that there has never been a Capricorn comingling of any importance and that I should just go kill myself.
Instead, I resorted to adopting cuddly pets for partners. Dogs, cats, turtles, neighboring dogs, cats, squirrels. But similar to some of my dates, I found out quickly that they were much more interested in having the food on my plate and they couldn’t hold their liquor.
My man didn’t have me at hello.
It took some doing and a lot of push from my girlfriend. A few dates into our relationship, I was supposed to stay at my friend’s condo after going to dinner with him.
I called her to make sure she left me a key to get in. She overheard my verbally forward escort declare, “You can stay at my house!” My protective pal yelled, “You let me talk to that guy!” Because only a friend will love you like a sister, protect you like a mother, and kick him in the keister if he dared lay a hand on me.
Calling for Backup
She was always there to lead me through the forest with all its prospective predators.
I felt like I was Little Red Riding Hood and there might be another wolf standing right in front of me. An entity of whom I would be nervously articulating the words, “My, what big ideas you have!” The last thing I needed was an animal. He was simply a soul whose intentions were good, and didn’t want to be misunderstood.
Too Much to Drink
I didn’t want to stay the night in fear that either my snoring may ruin a potential relationship, or intoxication might make some sort of magic happen.
He had a philosophy that could potentially ruin any relationship. He kept his friends close and his beer closer. Too many brewskis made this man walk directly into the glass patio slider at a party, leaving his noseprint on the clear and dense door. I certainly didn’t need a significant other who was prone to drunken behavior.
It’s important to keep drinking under control because it can be the main cause of unpleasant glass or girlfriend attacks.
I wondered if he had other deadly hobbies as well. Like cigarette smoking, or walking off curbs into oncoming traffic. Thankfully it wasn’t just the Dos Equis lager. He could not see since he was in dire need of cataract surgery.
The guy did have one strange manly trait that made him stand out from the rest. He would rather be out with me than watch hockey. Now football is another story. But it was my girlfriend who kept saying to me, “Hang in there. He seems like a good guy.”
Rising to the Top
She was right, considering I had such fond memories of those first encounters.
There was no need to jeopardize this union over a nasty nose welt, half blindness, and a hankering to watch a bunch of sweaty men on a field annihilating each other. With most dates, it was uphill in the beginning, which declined quickly. With this man, it was downhill at first and then he rose rather nicely to the top.
And any man who talks tenderly about his mother was a keeper.
The ultimate clincher to sealing the deal was right before the party when he chipped a tooth. He super glued it against other incisors so I wouldn’t think he was an astonishing sight and severely lacking in a cohesive dental plan. He withheld being amorous, and was hell bent on looking glamorous.
Beauty and the Beast
Lucky for me, my boyfriend understands me, thinks I am brilliantly subversive, and excuses my snoring.
Yet awhile after we met, he did ask two other women over for fun 4thof July festivities when they had nowhere else to go. Who was I to interfere with such boyish rituals?
He sweated bullets at the thought of telling me and said not to worry because one of them looked like Eeyore. I asked what the other one looked like and he basically prayed that they wouldn’t show up. Which they didn’t. I found out he wasn’t really a womanizer. He just wanted to show off his BBQing skills.
That, or test me as to how I would react to a ménage a trios with beauty and the beast.
My Social Butterfly
However harmless as it was, I had to carefully monitor who his invitees were after that little bit of friendliness.
A young buck makes his girl jealous around other women, but a gentleman makes other women jealous of his girl. My gentle man doesn’t eye other gals, at least when I’m looking that is. Nor did he ask if my sisters were hot. He’s simply a very sweet social butterfly. Depending on the amount of sugar and alcohol he has in him, he is either selectively anti-social, or hardy har har funny and endlessly entertaining. I have never laughed with anyone like I do with him.
Sometimes God gives us people we need.
This time He gave me someone I want. A late in life doting and romantic soul mate who knows everything about me except for maybe the number of hairs on my head. He has definitely been the elixir of eternal hope. In turn, my man doesn’t need to write me a love letter. He could simply continue to sing songs, play guitar, and make it snappy. I meant make me happy.
Or, he could just periodically say “Shut up and kiss me.” Saying my body is the best wouldn’t hurt either.
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