As we sat to eat our lunch of squashed sandwiches, high up on the mountainside, I pondered the strange relationship we shared. At times I felt as if he looked down on me; although, beyond being female I couldn’t see any reason for him to do so. It just seemed to me as if he were always on edge and as hard as I tried to shift his serious shield; it just refused, point blank, to budge.
I had spent my life imagining my perfect man and, apart from looks, this one didn’t seem to fit the bill. And yet, there was something about him that made me long to stick around. Of course, I’d never been good at making judgement calls; in fact, it had taken me eight months to convince myself that Marvin was absolutely not the one for me and there hadn’t been much to like about him, at all. For a start, he’d been the perfect example of an ‘A’ grade geek with his thick specks, tucked in shirt, and collection of pocket protectors; not to mention his weak immune system, which meant he held a list of allergies that few could top. Then, of course, there had been his mother, who had taken the art of mothering to a whole new level and, no doubt, would have wrapped him in cotton wool, if she’d been able to get her hands on enough of it. But, of course, he had been sweet, romantic, and dependable, not to mention the half brother of one of my closest friends and these things, alone, made me constantly question if he wasn’t the one; or, at least, if he had the potential to be with a little bit of hard work and remodelling.
Of course, before him, there had been Shane, all brawn and no brain; who, for six months, dated me and six other girls, unbeknownst to me, I might add, at least, until the night he, drunkenly, suggested I meet all of them in one hit and join in with some group fun. I, of course, declined and said goodbye; but, considering all his indiscretions, throughout our relationship, I feel ashamed at my inability to dump him sooner.
My problem is that I am always wondering ‘what if.’ What if, the minute I slam the door closed on this relationship, they make an about turn in life and become the man of my dreams, only for me to discover the fact, ten years down the road, when I’m still sat at home, in comfy joggers, eating microwave meals for one, that have, consequently, resulted in an extra thirty pounds of fat attaching itself to my midriff, while they are sauntering around, grinning like a Cheshire cat; safe in the knowledge that they have got it all figured out with their happy marriage, hoard of perfectly adorable kids, and beautiful, suburban home.
But this man; this dreamy hunk of a man, sitting and eating lunch with me, at this very moment, is the first to even come close to my picture of the perfect husband. I can see him in that suburban home with the perfect kids, me, and perhaps a loyal golden retriever or two; and ok, so he seems to lack the ability to smile, but perhaps with time... Wasn’t there just a smidgen of a chance that he might be the one?