![]() Mr. Right is a Myth
-- EXCERPT: “I’m going to the bathroom. Have fun deciding who gets the piece of man meat.” I finish what’s left of my virgin daiquiri – virgin, what a laugh – and pick up my purse. “If I’m not back in 10 minutes, you know I fell in.” My experience with Jesse forced me to add more things to my list of criteria to avoid in men, and my list grows longer with every ex. When I told Mom over the summer what I’m looking for in a man, she (ignorant of my history) said I’m too picky, whereas Vanessa wasn’t picky enough. I’ll end up bitter and alone, Mom said, while my sister is happily married, playing mommy. I have stretches where I’m in a relationship and intervals where I’m single. For someone to be in my life long-term, he and I need to be partners, equals, a power couple. But how do I find a guy like that? And who would want to be my partner for life anyway? My family says I’m too stubborn, too opinionated, too independent, wear too much black and too much makeup. Not exactly the sort a man commits to. I follow a waitress’ directions to the back of the club where young women – some dressed sexy, others casually like my friends and me – stream in and out of the restroom. I wonder how many of these chicks are in partnerships and how many are in relationships where the man wields the upper hand. I want a partnership, damn it! I’m so engrossed in thought I don’t notice a guy standing by the last table before the restrooms taking a step backward until he bumps into me. Losing my balance, I wobble. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, placing his hand briefly on my arm. “I hope you’re okay. I didn’t step on your foot, did I?” Holy shit! This guy is tall, fit and blond. Now that’s what I consider God’s gift to women. I smile and shake my head. “No, I’m okay. Don’t sweat it.” He nods and turns back to his friends. ![]()
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