Dear Appendaged Ones,
I love you, but I don’t always get you and you often make me crazy. Rarely do I truly understand how and why you think and act the way you do and despite the fact that I’m half a century old and never married, Ido love you. I love men. That said, sorry to have to break it to you, you gossip mongers of South Texas, but I’m straight.
Even so, I was asked recently why I never married. The answer to that is simply, I’ve never met a man who could fill the role as my husband. Realistically, I could never have been a wife either…not then anyway and certainly not married to those men. Had I, I would’ve cemented my name as part of some random divorce statistic.
Something was always amiss in every one of these relationships. Namely, the guy. He was either strange or had the integrity of gnat testicles or he was completely off-putting and coldly and impenetrably aloof. To be hoenst, I wasn’t always dealing with a full emotional deck either and that only exacerbated the negatives. And if that wasn’t bad enough, neither of us ever had enough heart to pursuit the relationship beyond where it was at that given time.
I know the odds are against my finding a suitable mate at my age, but for some reason odd reason, I am still sanguine about the prospect of someday finding Mr. Kendrick.
Today, as I type this, I will admit that he just might be closer than I think. If I listen carefully, I can hear my heart’s arrhythmia and his breathing.
Yay….and that’s for the breathing part; not the erratic heartbeat.
I’ve recently been exposed to romance by a friend I met this past February. Through the simplest of conversations, this friend has helped reintroduce me to the concept of romance. Not just that which ups the volume of one’s heartbeat, but the rekindling of my appreciation in the romance of life, of art, music and of course, the written word. I’ve never really had a man (platonic friend or love interest) in my life who understood and fully grasped romance, much less be brave enough purvey it on a daily basis.
Well, I know a man who does. And believe me, women yearn to meet this rare breed; even if we’re in denial about romance’s relevance in our lives. My sister, Karol seems to be of the mindset that too much romance will dull a relationship; that we have to have a certain degree of undulation to our relationships and this rockiness will keep it more on an even keel than being on an even keel. I’m not sure from where this slight romantic cynicism comes. Years ago, a man named Will, someone I never met, wrote me the most incredible love letters; beatiful words that were poetic and soulful and they all made Karol cry. She once told me that she’d give anything to be verbally embraced like that.
But the evil that is the passage of time can change everything. Hair color, skin texture and overviews on love and romance.
Still, if pressed, I know my sister and I know how truly heartened she’d be if someone would demonstrate the ways and mean of romance to her, for her; with her.
Why? Because my sister is a woman. Despite pedantic ramblings to the contrary, we all love romance. Even a smidgen of it can alter the course of an afternoon…a day…a year.
I feel sorry for the woman who’s only given it and never received it. I pity the man who for whatever reason, can’t muster it or provide it. I know most men think far more more linearly than women. Even so, I know you love us. Some of you love us more than others and still, there are the scant few who only want to put us first. Those who can do that, actually “get” the concept of love and romance and the role it plays in achieving that wondrous state of connubial bliss. But sadly, you are the minority.
I don’t know from where this gender variable stems. Is it imbedded in the double helix on which your DNA clings? Is it your pathology that makes you so skittish about love and relationship? Why is it that a woman’s love and concern can turn you from normal, seemingly emotionally healthy man into a frightened, neurotic, caged animal in under 60 seconds? If that describes you, well, that’s for you and your therapist to muddle through, but for those of you who are willing to love and love freely, please take this advice and heed it,: it is the little things that make the biggest impression.
Trust me on this.
- An e-mail sent out of the blue, on a busy afternoon lets her know you’re thinking about her. We LOVE that.
- Leave a note on her windshield the night before, encouraging her to have a great day and that you promise you”ll be there at the end of it.
- Fill her car up with gas if you see that’s it needs filling and do so without being prompted.
- Leave a rose on her plate (even while dining at home) when she’s not looking.
- Hold our hands for no reason at all.
- Listen to her, hear what she says. Keep this information in your quiver and pull it out when you see fit. Let’s say she loves the Kings of Leon, next time you’re at the mall or by a music store, go inside and buy her their newest CD and slip it in front of her, as she brushes her teeth at the bathroom sink.
- Tell her you love her…if for no other reason than because you feel it, while across the room. You don’t even need to look up from your book, newspaper or TV show.
- Make dinner for her one night. Clean the kitchen afterwards.
Romance needn’t be something that’s laborious or schmaltzy. lt can be simple and inexpensive. It can be free and sans any semblance of elaboration. I assure you, when it comes to being the recipient of romance, most women aren’t that picky. Less can definitely be more in this particular situation.
Attempt to make the sacrifice; be willing to bend and compromise. If you do, ultimately, you’ll be the winner.
So, come on guys. Romance the women you love. You won’t regret it. Mainly because if you treat us like queens, we will treat you like kings. The tenderness of requited romance is love’s quid pro quo.
You have no idea how happy you can be in your marriage; in your relationship until you work on it. Until you give just a bit more than you receive. Love, spite of its occasional, falaciousness can still be a beautiful thing. It really is the most important thing.
I have recently been forced to reckon with that fact that baseball sure runs a close second.
For the major leaguer in my life.