I often wonder if God has given up on me or if the universe just gave me the middle finger. I’ve waited years for that one guy … that one man to sweep me off my feet, pick me up and spin me around (in the middle of the road less traveled) during a rain storm, cover my shoulders with his sports coat when the fall breeze grazes my bare back, laugh at my jokes even when they are ridiculously unfunny, tells me I’m beautiful when I feel unattractive, kisses me like I’m his first and last kiss, and makes love to my mind (mentally stimulating my psyche), my body (kissing, touching, licking, and sucking each and every part of me), and my soul (inhaling his scent, feeling the warmth of his breath against my neck, and smiling uncontrollably … even when we’re miles apart). I know, I know, the perfect man does not exist … the one my subconscious tends to tease me with. But, the imperfect man is what I hope for … it’s his imperfections that make our connection so perfect. Since stepping back into the dating abyss, I have yet to come across the “imperfect” fellow. Some guys are like vultures waiting for the perfect time to devour “road kill.”
Dating is no longer dating. It’s just a DSL (Dine her, Screw her, and Lose her) kind of thing. We need to go back to AOL (Appreciate her, Oblige her and Love her). Sounds too close to an internet connection. Hell, if you think about it, it is! We’ve gone from slow and steady dial up to a fast and the furious high speed connection. A three hour phone conversation with a stranger has turned into a few minutes of sexting … “What are you wearing?” “Can I come over?” “What do you taste like?” … and penis collages (small ones, big ones, short ones, long ones, skinny ones, and fat ones). I know men are visual creatures (I get that) … we all are. But, damn, every woman does not want to hear how a man is going to make her swing from a chandelier or dance on the ceiling (Thanks Lionel Richie) or see the head of his penis go in and out of its shell like a baby tortoise. All of this foolery usually occurs just hours after meeting. Long sigh with an eye roll …
I think I’m going to get on my knees with a helmet fastened to my head, knee pads, and a century old bible … and pray. My spiritual self believes that God, the Universe, and the Angels of Heaven are producing the “imperfect” mate just for me … crafted with an irreplaceable mold. He will not wear a crown; however, he will wear the tag, MADE IN HEAVEN and not MADE IN CHINA/MADE IN AMERICA.
Single ladies, continue to love yourself and he will love you just the same. It’s ok to be single … it’s just a temporary fix before the permanent stain (of love). Adam (from the bible, not Adam Levine) will soon find a donor for his malformed rib.