A clever gal with a witty sense of humor and excellent fashion sense recently told me that ending the frog blog now would be - and I quote - "like Melrose Place stopping mid-season". While I appreciated the sentiment enough to get off my rear end and update my 21 fans on what's up, for the record, I sincerely hope that the drama quotient here in the Powderhorn Park neighborhood is significantly less than the havoc wreaked by Amanda, Michael, Sydney et al. Once again, if you don't know who or what I'm talking about, you are too young to be reading this and your parents should be ashamed of themselves for not more diligently monitoring your internet usage. (You know who you are.)
Suitor #1 and I have been dating each other - and only each other - for nearly two months. Kissing frogs, while frequently degrading, humiliating, and always entertaining, is actually a hell of a lot easier than being in a relationship with one. Who knew? When you're merely kissing frogs, you wear a push-up bra, put on some extra eye-liner, and you smile sweetly until your face hurts. But eventually, you wind up back home, alone, where you can safely wear the same sweatpants you've owned since college, a mustard-stained GeekSquad t-shirt you scored free, and the ugliest, grayest pair of giant granny panties known to mankind. You can drown your sorrows in a glass (botttle) of Pinot Grigio, you can fill the emptiness inside you with Skinny Cow ice cream treats, and you can write ridiculous blog entries about your latest disaster while laughing at your own jokes.
When you are trying to relate to someone else, it’s a whole different story. You walk the tightrope between wanting to put your best face forward and opening up completely to someone else. You wonder, “Will he still like me when he finds out what my breath smells like in the morning?” You diligently avoid eating anything with onions or that might lead to excessive intestinal gas. God forbid he finds out that you . . fart. Or poop. Or anything else remotely human.
Part of the charm of Suitor #1 is that he is just as clueless as I am about what to do, and he’s just as afraid of screwing up as I am. We spend a lot of time dancing around landmines as a result. It’s no secret that I’m not all that thrilled about his ex-wife and tadpoles. I know it’s irrational and ridiculous at my age, but I resent being someone’s second or third choice. I’m a princess, for God’s sakes, not a consolation prize. Thanks to the brainwashing of Disney, Sweet Valley High, and countless chick flicks, I’ve come to believe that nirvana is walking down the aisle in a cute dress and a tiara. I want to believe that Mr. Right has been sitting on the sidelines (maybe in a chastity belt?) just waiting for me to show up all these years. Insane? Uh . . . yes. As Suitor #1 aptly pointed out, it’s not like I was just sitting on my big ass waiting for Mr. Right to swoop by on a white horse all these years myself. And yet, to me, there is a significant difference between me shacking up with Mr. Wrong for 14 years and him standing in front of God and everyone else and saying, “I do . . . for better and for worse.”
Since I met this guy, I’ve been looking for reasons to run as fast as I can in the opposite direction – and for every reason I want to flee for the hills, he gives me two more reasons to stay put and follow my heart. Let me catalogue the evidence for you.
Exhibit A: The birthday party.
I threw a little soiree for myself this year in honor of the 10th anniversary of my 27th birthday. I really wanted to see the people I care about most on my birthday and I didn’t know any other way to do it beyond throwing a little party. Just add alcohol and look at that! We can all get along. I purposely threw this party on a day when I knew Suitor #1 would be preoccupied with his tadpoles because I didn’t want him to feel obligated to make an appearance. It’s stressful meeting the friends! Not only did he secure a babysitter, he showed up and in spite of the fact that I know he would have preferred a root canal without Novocain; he hung in there and met my friends. Why is this such a big deal, you ask? I’ll tell you why.
Some of you have known me a long time – and many of you never laid eyes on Mr. Wrong in all those years. In fact, several people wondered if he was a figment of my imagination since he rarely ventured out in public with me. I learned early on that Mr. Wrong only did what he wanted when he wanted. He would never submit to a night with my friends where he wasn’t the center of attention. Consequently, I hardly saw my friends for 14 years, and I went a lot of places alone. Or with my girlfriends, leading several to wonder if I’d adopted a lesbian lifestyle. (While I’ve threatened it many times, as it turns out, I like dudes. It’s my cross to bear.)
Exhibit B: Attention to Detail
I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but for some reason, I get a lot of flowers. When they come from my amazing friends, I cherish them and wonder how I got so lucky to have the world’s greatest friends. I often get red roses, however, from misguided frogs in an attempt to weasel their way into my Grinch-like heart. My motto is this. Save your money! Please. While flowers are beautiful, the way to this Princess’s heart is through quality time and service. Mow my lawn and I’ll love you forever. (Yes, Dave – this means you.) Cook me dinner and you’ll have a hard time getting me to leave your kitchen, or any other room of your house. (Frog #6 – I apologize for this. It’s just that you are a helluva cook. And there was CAKE, too.) Fix my refrigerator and I will make sure my legs are shaved every single time I see you.
Suitor #1 was asking some weird questions pre-birthday, along the lines of “what’s your favorite flower” and “if I wanted to send you something, where would I send it?” This led to awkward conversation #324 where I explained that he did not need to spend his hard-earned money on flowers for me, and in fact, if he was smart, he would invest it in the tadpoles’ college fund. I don’t want to be the reason these kids I haven’t met yet end up working at Red Robin. He kept pushing though, so I let it slip that sunflowers are my absolute favorite and you can save your roses for your prom date, thank you very much. It is also possible that I threatened to neuter him if he sent me flowers at work, but there are no witnesses so let’s not pursue that line of questioning any further, shall we?
I spent my birthday away from home but Suitor #1 didn’t forget my special day. He fed-exed me a birthday card at the office to make sure that I knew he was thinking of me on my day. I can’t think of anything sweeter than that! (I was also appalled that he spent $18 to mail a $3 card. We’re going to have to discuss this at some point.)
And, when I got home from work this week, I met a flower delivery guy who handed me the most beautiful bouquet of sunflowers I have ever seen. No stupid roses from this guy!
Is he tall, dark, and handsome? Yeah, he is. Since I was looking for red-haired and skinny, that’s not a ringing endorsement. (And that’s also not a lie, by the way.) Suitor #1 is everything I never knew I wanted and more than I ever imagined I could find.
Is it perfect? Of course not. This is life, not a fairy tale. He’s a little overprotective and a little insecure, and I’m a lot stubborn, have a big mouth, and I am independent as hell. What I think of as an innocent remark will keep him up all night wondering, “Is she harboring a crush on a dead guy?” or “What if she moves to Colorado?” What he considers helpful support can sometimes feel like smothering to me. What’s different is that we talk about it . . . all of it. And what makes him imperfect feels like the stuff I like the most.
I’m a smart princess and I know all about infatuation and lust and oxytocin. I know there is no such thing as “The One” and that none of us really live happily ever after, except really rich people who can afford to hire someone else to clean their toilets. (And even they don’t seem all that happy, to be honest.) But you know what? For once in my life, I’m not worried about happily ever after. I’m happy right now, in this moment. And that is enough.
© 2010 Princess D
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