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Dang April 25, 2014

Posted by michaelnjohns in Uncategorized.
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I know an absolutely beautiful lady, who writes beautifully about life.  She has books published, I am so jealous.  And I’m married, or I might tell you she’s a complete knock out.  I hear my single readers saying, who is this lady?  You need to introduce me.  Nope.  If it’s right, she’ll find you and she is absolutely worth every second you’d wait.  She has her flaws and scars, just like all humans do.  They make her more interesting, more humble, more experienced.  More attractive.  Seriously, without exaggeration, she has the second prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen an adult possess, and I dare not get descriptive about any other observations I may or may not have made.  I’ll plead the 5th amendment.  The prettiest eyes, for the record, are my wife’s.  They aren’t just an inspiration for poetry, they ARE poetry.

My writer friend writes about dating guys and she is hilarious.  So far, she’s only writing about the reject pile of resumes applying for the title, “winner.”  She gets to observe, take her time, write it down, mull it over.  What did he just say?  What does that mean?  How did he behave?  Is that a lie?  Because ladies have a b.s. detector.  Hemmingway said a writer has to have that to make sure his characters sound real.  And women need that because guys are frequently full of it.  Or full of themselves, which isn’t far enough away from full of it.  Women have a b.s. detector, and occasionally guys will find the girl to be so desperate as to have shut theirs off.  Lucky for the guy, maybe, but how long is that going to last?  When she finds out you’re a liar, she should rightly kick you to the curb.  My friend’s detector is fine-tuned and permanently on.  Ladies, take a lesson.

And then her way of describing these poor guys is hilarious.  And sad.  Notice I said, “these poor guys.”  Because I really do pity them. As a married man, I’ve won.  The text says “He who finds a wife finds what is good, and receives favor from the Lord.”  (Proverbs 18:22)  No place anywhere does the text say anything about “she who finds a husband.”  Dang.  So I understand where these guys are.  Single. Un-chosen.  Alone.  And then they meet this priceless woman, whose presence takes them so off guard…  And they do what us guys do.  They screw it up.  

They lie.  Loser.  They brag.  Loser.  They don’t want to hear more about her.  Loser.  Worse, they minimize what she does.  Loser. They’re shallow.  Loser.  They’re illiterate.  Loser.  They don’t think there’s room for self-improvement.  Loser.  Momma’s boy.  Loser. They want too much, and they offer too little.  Loser.  They are pushy, or downright aggressive.  Loser.  (Having power doesn’t mean you have to assert it.)  Or they try a little too hard, too desperate.  Loser.  Or they’re scary.  Loser.

This woman is really brilliant.  And did I mention beautiful?  Yeah, guys are just dumb schlubs, even if they clean up nice and can wear a suit. I watch her, I read her writing, and I think, it must be nice to have the self-confidence to wait and take your pick.  And then I have to ask, how in blazes did I get so lucky as to fall into my wife’s life, and better still into her arms, which I now affectionately refer to as “my spot.”  You know, Dr Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory calls that spot on the couch “my spot,” and demands everyone respect it as “in a state of permanent dibs.”  My wife is so beautiful.  More than 20 years and she just gets prettier to me, it’s awesome.  It’s a profound mystery to me.  If I never figure it out, I don’t care as long as I don’t mess it up.  Every time I’m in “my spot,” I feel like I’ve won the lottery somehow, because she chose me.  In the same way, whoever my friend chooses is a winner.

Note To All Women Everywhere:  You are the treasure.  Don’t let the losers drag you down.  You choose the winner.  You have the power to do that, and not him.  Sorry, guys.  Ladies, like the nursery rhyme and your “mother told [you], to[, you should wait and] pick the very best one.” In my childhood I never knew you could say “my mother told me,” or “my mother said.” These options change the final outcome of the selection process, which seemed random to me when I was young. Oh, childhood. I am still pretty naïve. When will I become wise, and why does it have to be after the hornet-stings, before I learn they’re mean? After the “match burn twice” trick burned me when I was a kid, and after learning what bullies people can be, I learned people can be mean too. But I still put out a courageous vibe, bravely meeting other people despite my profoundly deep introversion and fear of being burned by something that looks harmless.  You have the power of the choice:  “my mother told me,” or “my mother said.”  Choose wisely.  Reject the losers.

So my friend writes and she says things like “rugged” and “hunk,” and how hot the room feels, and I realize, she’s talking about one of the losers.  And I think, Dang.  I wish I was a “rugged hunk” who made the temperature of the room go up.  Alas, I’m only a hopeless romantic poetry writing schlub who worships the ground my wife walks on, and her eyes, and as another poet has aptly described, “all her curves and all her edges.”  Thank you, John Legend.  That song, “All of You,” is the kind of poetry I want to be writing. Sadly, writing poetry hasn’t make me rugged or hunky or rich.  (Yet?)  Nope.  I’m still slightly overweight, grey-bearded, and approaching 50 at warp speed.

The songwriters get rich and famous writing about women who like their tequila and their whiskey, or who like to dig for gold, or who live exciting lives spending lots of money and looking good.  I’m not hearing a lot about 22 years of stability, working hard, making a brilliant choice and staying with it, and living for solid good old-fashioned true love.  I’m there, writing about it and not making myself rich or famous.  (Yet?)  Because whiskey and tequila and money and clothes and cars and shallowness aren’t the things that turn her on.

I’m in a stage of my relationship where I want to rekindle whatever fire she felt when she said “I do.”  I’ve been there, working on the rekindling for 27 years.  We’ve been married 22 years.  There’s no magic elixir or spell.  She doesn’t like my poetry, which is about all I have to offer. Drinks put her to sleep.  There are acts of service–washed feet (a great flirtation device) put her to sleep; back rubs (another one) put her to sleep, household chores, which I do cheerfully as long as I’m not half-asleep myself.  And I tell the truth:  I’m a slightly overweight, grey-bearded (she hates the beard but I hate shaving more), guy approaching 50 at warp speed, a hopeless romantic poet and novel-in-progress-ist, who dearly and desperately loves his wife and family.  I do all of that, and it’s not enough.  She’s hard to turn on.  Worth it, but hard.  Those moments when the moon and stars miraculously align and my kids don’t bang on the door…

There’s plenty to repair if I were any good at that.  Cars and plumbing and computers, sure would be nice to be able to fix those things myself.  I’m good with electricity, now, finally.  I can wire some things, or fix a short circuit.  I can repair our vacuum cleaner, and I can clean things you wouldn’t believe.  But if you start telling people how I do windows, I’ll plead the 5th again, claim Mission Impossible, and disavow all knowledge of my actions.  I used to change the diapers and coddle the kids, when they were of that age.  Now I put notes in their school backpacks and try to encourage them when I’m not working.  It’s not enough.  If I had enough money, I could have a proper midlife crisis, with the new sports car (I’d choose a Prius, and how lame is that?), and the new career (I’d choose poet and published novelist instead of day job worker and writer-by-night, and how lame is that?).  If I were cool, and rich, there’d be a Ferrari and I’d be a famous singer/songwriter like John Legend.  A lot of guys choose a new wife.  But if I were rich, and if I did have the crisis, if I were wise, I’d still choose my wife.  Though I loved her first, she made this loser feel like a winner, and she still loves me best.  So maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

But, Dang!  It sure would be nice to be a sexy, rich, rugged hunk, whose presence heats up the room.

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Comments»

1. Saddle Up! | Pursuing My Passion - May 6, 2014

[…] Here’s the link to “Dang!” https://moejoemojo.wordpress.com/2014/04/25/dang/ […]

2. suzannepurewal - May 6, 2014

Thank you so much for writing about me and making my day!

michaelnjohns - May 7, 2014

I’m very glad I was able to encourage you. I believe you’re on a good path, and I love the way you’re being wise and keeping a sense of humor about the road ahead.

suzannepurewal - May 7, 2014

🙂


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