There are 2 kinds of men in this world. There are the Good On Paper Guys and the Not
Good On Paper Guys. The good on paper
kind are nice, they have stable jobs, delightful manners and generally drive a
4 door sedan at the speed limit. They
have retirement plans, degrees, their own apartments and social
intelligence. They send flowers and
remember anniversaries. They give foot rubs and listen to your problems. They hold you softly and stroke your hair. They
are the kind of man that your Mom would love.
They reek of stability and future.
The not good on paper kind of man is always hot. He might not be classically attractive but
when he walks into the room, you notice.
They say all the right things (granted they usually never follow
through) and they carry an atmosphere of all their own. When they are around you just want to get
caught up in their bubble. They make you
feel like you are the center of the universe with an intense eye gaze. They
make you feel soft, safe, and feminine.
There is never any question of you coming home to a candlelight dinner
because as the woman, you’re fixing his plate.
They fix stuff. They are always
either trying to get you in bed or keep you in bed. They are generally under-employed,
at best. If they have a license they
always drive too fast in cars that might or might not be legally registered.
They never send flowers or remember anything (except all of your spots). And they generally don’t have a lease with
their name on it. But man, you can’t
wait to show them off to your friends.
While it is common sense to get with the G.O.P.G. they just
aren’t as much fun. Maybe it’s part of
the whole opposites attract thing, you crave what will balance you. I am responsible by default. I have raised 2
kids virtually alone. While my family is
an amazing support system, I fully recognize that I created my kids so I am
responsible. I would never shirk that, that’s
just not who I want to be. Therefore someone
who is equally responsible holds no allure. Granted we might have a fat bank
account and a sweet retirement but… but… but… I want more than a future. I want a sizzling hot present.
I’m at a crossroads in my life. In a small space of time my stinkers will be
legal adults. I’ve worked my butt off to
parent well so I am fairly confident that they will make good choices about
their future. Even if they don’t we have
crafted them a deep enough toolbox to correct any interesting decisions that they
may make. I won’t be overly anxious that I wasn’t a vigilant enough parent, I
trust my parenting and their good sense.
What I will do is start dating again. This is the
crossroad. For the first time in a long
time I can and will make a decision about whom I want to spend time with
independent of worrying about the impact it will have on my kids. Independent of worrying if they will like him
or if he will like them (who am I kidding, everyone loves them) or if he will
be good enough for them. Now my choice is about me. And I have to be honest, I
love the N.G.O.P.G.s. I love the swag and
the interesting conversations. I like
the blatant masculinity that slightly boarders on obnoxious.
I am trying to tell myself that I need to try something
different and that I should go with nice guys for a while. But then I swear I hear my fallopian tubes
recede deeper into my cervix. It’s like
they just curl up into the fetal position.
Which is SO unfair, I know. But
it’s SO true. I guess like most girls (the not-a-wreck kind anyway) I keep
hoping that I can find a N.G.O.P.G. and once he finds true love he’ll magically
remember to pick up roses on our anniversary.
I know, I know, too many Disney movies. But a girl can dream…
I’m shallow enough to know that attraction is really
important to me. I’m wise enough to know that you can’t and shouldn’t try to
change a person. I’m smart enough to know that “nice” doesn’t do it for me. I’m
perceptive enough to be worried. But not worried in the anxious way, in the
“this is going to be fun until its really not” way. My fallopian tubes need to
grow up.
I have in front of me 2 different choices. One makes a lot of sense. The other promises
a wild ride. Any girl reading this already knows which choice I’m inclined to
make. If you’re a guy reading this and
you’re slightly confused, ask your closest girl friend/sister/aunt, she’ll
know. The part of me that loves to dance
on tables refuses to be denied. But the
part of me that wishes she were wiser will not shut up, that girl craves
stability and flowers. My head is a noisy place.
I am crossing my fingers that between now and the inevitable that the G.B.B. (Good Bad Boy) will show up and sieve a path of his own. This is the
hopeful part of me that refuses to die.
Somewhere between my good girl and bad girl is one that is hoping for a
compromise. Hot, employed, swag, flower buying, protective, intelligent, fast
driving and well mannered.
I know, I know it’s a total fantasy. But if I’m crafting fantasy I might as well
wish for what I really want right?
-Dewb
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