Not Your Average Damsel

“EVEN IN JEANS, HE’S A GOD-SENT ORIGINAL, THE MAN OF MY DREAMS.” -PEPA

With no exaggeration, I know I can spend this entire day’s post writing about the masterpiece of man that I am dating.

Just now, before getting up for the laptop to document it, I was overtaken by just how attractive he was. I wanted to stand and start shouting like Iliza, “Look at the man! Look at him!” But since he, the Boy and, probably most of the neighbors are still sleeping, I thought writing about it might be better.

I know- well, I don’t know, but I certainly hope- that everyone in love feels something like this toward their partners. I hope that, at some point, they all have had the urge to fill one of those college final blue books with prose about their partner’s eyes or smile. Isn’t that how love is supposed to work? Yet and still, my persistent obsession with this guy feels different. (Though, that’s the sorcery of love too, right? Not-so secretly thinking that your love is unique and special? Something sweeter and smarter than what others have?)

Whether common lust or not, I could –and do– go on about what good stuff he is made of. Laying face to face on our pillows, I can stare at that one eye (the one with markings like Scar from the Lion King and the mole beside it), at half of that straight, birthmarked nose, and the bearded right side of his square-cut jaw for an hour before even thinking about breakfast. He breathes so peacefully. He smells so good. His butterscotch, dolphin-smooth skin is warm and wants to touch me. Why would I ever want to get up? Bring the bacon to bed, I will snack while I take in the naked show.

Sadly, I have been all-in on this man’s looks from the day we met. So shallow of me, I know. So shallow, in fact, that I assumed that someone so pretty must also be dumb. What’s the need for smarts or personality if women meet you and immediately want to suck the lips off your face? (Luckily that assessment was wrong.) So shallow, that I knew he was too hot to possibly want me. (I was wrong on that one, too.) So shallow that, once I knew the attraction was mutual, my then-married ass realized the best plan would be to stay far away from him, lest I slip and fall on his dick. (Turns out I was right about this one, but managed to fail at it, miserably.)

Every day when he comes home, I ask him if the women he works with tell him how cute he is. Unless it happens to be a day that he’s dressed up or wearing new sneakers, he usually tells me no. I regularly pull the Iliza on my sister, haranguing her, trying to get to her admit how hot she thinks he is. She must! He has “perfect shoulder-to-bicep ratio.” Every time, she mumbles a confused and uncomfortable, “he a’ight, ” not wanting to insult her pretend brother-in-law.

Please know, friends, that I’m just in love– I am not crazy. I know that other women may look at him and not see what I see. And when it comes down to it, truth be told, though these women’s lack of agreement baffles me, the fact that the panty-dropping, stomach-quaking warmth I get from looking in his eyes is all mine to bask in– is even sweeter.

Yeah, I knew I could do it.

/damsel