I'd scheduled a film review for today but I zigged when I should've zagged and it posted in the wee hours yesterday, so here's a little something else.
When I was single or between relationships/bunk ups I had this idea in my head about the kind of man I'd end up with. I had the proverbial tall, dark and handsome in mind, but with a rock edge. I liked guys as tall and broad as oaks with hands like shovels. All the better if they had copious tattoos, curly hair and the kind of bold eyes which linger on a woman with no shame. The kind of guy who'd make me flush red just by him looking at me.
Maybe I read a few too many romance novels when I was a teenager or believed the crap on TV, but I had ideas about someone who would be physically strong and who would 'protect' me from life's ills.
Sometimes you don't get what you want (or what you think you want) but you get what you need.
It was April 2003, and my friend Helen and I were in our favourite London hangout, the Intrepid Fox rock pub in Soho. My then-friend Laurence had invited himself to my birthday drinks and had brought a couple of his mates along with him. Helen and I were standing on our own blatantly ignoring the men (we were being fabulous, naturally) when one of the guys came over. He asked me if he could borrow a hair band to tie back his long hair. I offered him up the one on my wrist, which was blue and sparkly, so he made a face and said no thanks. I thought no more of it; he wasn't my type.
I'd had quite a lot to drink that night, in fact I can't remember most of it. I know Helen and I went to a little hangout in Soho called Garlic and Shots, which comprises of a very cramped bar playing pounding metal downstairs and a tiny restaurant upstairs. The food and drinks are almost all garlic themed. I used to love their honey garlic vodka shot. Anyway, I digress. At some point the fellas turned up. Apparently I invited them, and apparently I attacked James with my mouth and tongue, as you do, and then they left, probably because I REEKED of garlic. (I tried to drink that shot sober once and nearly barfed all over myself. People used to kiss me after I'd downed 6 of them. Men will launch themselves at anything with a pulse, yo.)
I vaguely remember Helen and I going to Gossips, a really cool sleaze rock club in Soho. (I used to exist in Soho, despite actually living over 30 miles away at the time.) The wannabe hair-band borrower turned out to be called James, and he magically appeared in the club and very sweetly came up to me when I was at the bar (more booze, yuss!) and asked if he could put his arm around me. How cute. I was NOT used to this. We made kissy faces all night, and James kinda ground his crotch up against me like he was scratching an itch all night. This didn't put me off, alarmingly, even though he may have had crabs.
We arranged to meet again, and after a few weeks of us going out I had a serious conversation with myself about whether I could continue to be with someone that nice. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! I was so used to dating arseholes that when someone treated me like a human being I questioned if I deserved it. Holy shee-it.
As you can imagine I decided I did actually deserve to be treated nicely, and here we are almost 11 years down the line, and almost 2 years married.
The strength I sought from a man like an oak with hands like shovels I got in his quiet steadfastness. His roots are deep and he doesn't sway. I've never known someone on such an even keel. Nothing bothers him, he's always happy and he's a steadying influence on this highly emosh Aries bish.
The protection I sought in a man bigger than me I got in a man who takes care of my shelter, food, clothing and so many other needs while I'm too ill to work. He protects me by allowing me to be me, with all the complex mental and physical crap that entails, even if he doesn't understand it.
He loves me completely, and that isn't dependent on my shape or size. He's fancied me at all weights and compliments me every day. He often tells me I look/smell/feel nice, with a boyishly shy look on his face. It's so cute. He loves it when I wear tight fitting clothes or no clothes at all.
Best of all, we make each other really happy with very little effort. Every day when he comes home from work he has a cheeky 'I've missed you' grin on his face and we have a massive hug. We have fun when we do things together, even if it's boring tasks like DIY, but that's because we're usually half naked and it's hard not to have fun when you're half naked. ;)
So if you meet someone and they're not your type, maybe give them a chance. I could have so easily written my future husband off and gone in search of a bastard who would have eventually crushed my spirit, or someone who I thought looked like 'the one'.
Who knows if I let go of potential good 'uns before him? It doesn't matter, because this time I bagged the one for me.
Some say love should be like a punch in the guts, with an attraction at first sight which makes your legs go giddy, but sometimes love creeps up on you like summer in April. It's when you realise you're a better person for knowing them, when you don't recognise the person you were before them, and you can't imagine a future without them. That's our kind of love.
Tell me how you met your partner if you have one. If you're single and ready to mingle, tell me what you look for in a person. Go go GO.
I love talking about all things love/attraction and may I just say, I'm totally including my gay, bi and lesbian readers in this. Love is love is LOVE and anyone who is not down with gay love/marriage can GTFO.
So that's that. Thanks for reading.
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