Stop. No gagging. Despite what you may think, this post has NOTHING to do with the movie, of the same name. And this is the one and only time I will mention Ryan O’Neal. I PROMISE. It’s Valentines Day. Which I don’t particularly want to discuss. So what’s left? If I’m not going to talk about V-Day, I HAVE to talk about love. Don’t I?
It’s not that I’m anti romance. It’s just that really, Valentines Day isn’t about romance. In fact most men’s credit cards probably get more action than they do. Because Valentines Day is about spending money. Buying cards. Buying flowers. Buying chocolate. Buying perfume. Buying lingerie. Buying jewelry. Buying champagne.
So nobody loves Valentines Day more than shop keepers, banks and credit card issuers. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear they love cupid more than they love their spouses.
There’s more to my lack of enchantment with Valentines Day, though. For a start, who wants hearts and flowers just one day a year? Do you really thinks a bunch of posies or a box of bonbons or even a little, blue box from Tiffany’s on February 14, gets you off the hook for the rest of the year? I don’t think so.
I can’t speak for the menfolk, but I do know what women want. And it’s NOT a guy who waits all year, for Hallmark to say it for him. So if you’re that guy, trust me when I tell you, the sexy, little teddy won’t be seeing the light of day. Or night.
Now you know why I’ve decided to leave Valentines Day for someone else to write about.
But I’m happy to talk about love. The first time I fell in love, I was about nineteen or twenty. He was from Vermont. We had a mutual friend, who introduced us. When I think back, I can’t figure it out. He was a very nice guy. Good looking. Worked in technology, even back then. I think he was a programmer. Can’t remember. He was a great golfer. Like a three or four handicap, kind of great. I played golf in those days, too. Maybe that was it.
He was way too quiet for me. Way too laid back. Dare I say meek? Oh dear.
I was besotted, though. Thank God it didn’t last long, is all I can say. Because we were NOT meant to be. This would never have been a marriage made in heaven. Honestly, I think the snooze alarm on my love glands got turned off, they woke up, and he just happened to be in the neighbourhood. A summer romance was what it was. And as I recall, it wasn’t the steamiest summer on record, either. But it was sweet.
And I hope he met the love of his life, and they’re still going strong.
Often we confuse lust and love. I think it’s because some of the symptoms are the same. I know the first time I saw the man of my dreams I couldn’t take my eyes off him. We were in a club. Or I was there, with a friend. When he walked in, I remember I elbowed her in the ribs so hard, she almost fell off her bar stool. I swear I had palpitations. My mouth was dry. It was an instantaneous reaction. I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d tried. Which, needless to say, I didn’t.
Thankfully he walked over to me. Because I’m not sure my legs would have carried me, if I’d had to walk over to him. My knees were that weak.
That man was on my mind 24/7. I thought about him all the time. I talked about him all the time. I couldn’t get enough of him. I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. It was pre cell phone days and I hated to go out, in case I’d miss a call from him. I replayed every conversation and date we had, over and over again. I constantly worried I’d said something, or done something, wrong; and I’d never hear from him again. I was at my neurotic best. Yeah, I had it bad. Real bad.
At the beginning I tried not to be available ALL the time. Just because. You know, that stupid game men and women play. We each know exactly what the other one’s doing, but we do it anyway. Yeah. That didn’t last too long, as you can imagine. It was torture. I wanted to see him too badly. I lusted after him, what can I say.
Didn’t take long before I was crazy in love with him. Aside from the obvious (do I really need to spell it out for you?), we had a lot in common. So we always had tons to talk about, to dream about, to share. For a lot of years.
Until the day he pissed me off. I mean really. REALLY. And that was the day I realized my ‘happily ever after’ had an expiry date.