That Is The Man I Am Going to Marry
October 13, 2011 § 32 Comments
You hear these stories, don’t you, about women who spot a man somewhere and just know that he is the one they are going to marry.
I don’t know if this has ever happened to a plankton in the history of the world – they probably think it, and then the fantasy doesn’t turn into reality for them. I guess only younger women manage to pull it off, but I may be wrong. Either way, I am intrigued. How the fuck do these women, young or otherwise, make it happen?
It happened to a friend of mine (she was not a plankton). She saw a charismatic figure on stage and thought, that is the man for me. Totally out of character, she tracked him down, rang him and miraculously he turned out to be neither married nor gay nor clinically insane. Even better, he was attracted to her (not hard; she is lovely). They did get married and are still together today.
How can I achieve that same truly astonishing feat?
I am of the opinion that Long Shot is the man I would like to marry. I have only met him once but everything – well, perhaps not quite everything – about him fits in with my ideal kind of man. OK, OK, so it’s dangerous to have an ideal but I’m bored by that wisdom. No crime in ideals as long as we don’t imagine too seriously that we’ll ever land one. I do have an ideal and it is this: someone I fancy (and who fancies me, with any bloody luck); someone, vitally, who would at least roughly “get” me and my family and friends (the interests, humour, jokes, the outlook, the way of life) and not feel uncomfortable in our midst, either superior to, or out of their depth with them (not entirely sure PS and Smidgen fit this bill, PS definitely not, though Smidgen most probably would); someone who wouldn’t feel I let them down or couldn’t fit into their life, family etc but in fact felt I would be an asset to it; someone who wanted to be with me but also cherished his solitude and valued mine; someone who would be prepared to be open-minded about at least becoming fond of my children. Oh, I am probably going way overboard on all this ideal business. All that and more in one person! And what’s more, one that’s attracted to me? Plankton, you are asking the fucking earth.
LS is completely fascinating himself and leads a life I find fascinating – probably in some weirdy fucking Freudian way because he is SO like my father in SO many respects (background; character; education; way of life; even – very distantly, I may say – related to him, for God’s sake). Please don’t give me a hard time about this; I’m not the first woman to like a man because he reminds her of her dad! Of course he has his short-comings (also very similar to my dad’s) which may not be entirely suited to the state of matrimony, but, hey, what man doesn’t? Word is out that LS is on the lookout for a wife, which is promising. And whatever anyone says, I am a firm believer that leopards are entirely capable of changing their spots (I am on a mission to debunk the knee-jerk cliche – where on this fricking keyboard is a French acute accent, btw, anyone? – that they can’t change them). I own that it is quite rare, but a couple of my greatest friends have changed their spots so dramatically – for the better – transformed characters, both – that no one can ever pull that indelible spotted wool over my eyes).
Anyway, fucking fool me, I have decided LS is completely perfect for me, even though I am resisting actually drawing up a guest list and even though I am going on a date with Smidgen (who is in the country at least and what is more in contact with me, neither of which can be said for LS).
And long may I labour under that illusion. It passes the time of day agreeably.
Don’t anyone give me that it’s better than no bloody illusion whatsoever. How effing boring is that?