I wanted a man who would talk Shakespeare with me and go to the theater unironically. I wanted a tall, dark-haired man, with a sense of mystery, a man I'd have to spend my life figuring out. I wanted a man who would put his hand on the small of my back to guide me into rooms and through life. I wanted a man who would argue politics. I wanted a man who would write me love letters and whisper sweet things and never roll his eyes when I went on and on and on the way I tend to go on and on and on. I wanted a man who I never, ever fought with. I wanted a man to be jealous of every eye that fell on me, of every interaction I had with someone who wasn't him. I thought, for most of my life, that jealousy was how someone showed their devotion. I wanted a man who would read to me, in the spirit of Pacey Witter. I wanted a man who had no opinions on all the things I have a very difficult time wavering on, such as paint colors and wedding invitations and my kid's name. I wanted a man who brooded, in the sexy way that only highly-paid actors brood.
I got a man who doesn't read and gets antsy in the regular old movie theater, let's not talk the actual, fancy theater. I got a man who is a redhead (!) and who is who he is right out loud and unapologetically. Take him or leave him. I got a man who encourages me to hold my head up, walk straight on my own, be strong, baby, you can do it. I got a man who rarely votes. I got a man who writes me short and rarely sweet emails, who doesn't even read my emails to him if they're longer than three sentences. I have to peck out, "Dinner out, yes or no? Picking up Kyle, yes or no? DID YOU READ THIS FAR DOWN, YES OR NO?" and he writes back, "yes, yes, YES." I got a man who lets me irrationally yell -- about plants and socks and dirty bottles and, oh shit, he lets me yell about it all -- before crossing his arms and sighing and talking very sternly in response. I got the least jealous man who has ever existed on this planet. Go on, try to rival him. YOU WILL FAIL. I got a man who said to me, back when we first moved in together, "You're either committed or you're not, and I am." He looked me in the eyes when he said that and when I talk really frankly with myself I know -- insecurities and paranoia aside -- he meant it. I got a man who thinks the CW and Pacey Witter and Brooke Davis and Veronica Mars should all be tossed into a hole in the ground, never to be discussed again. I got a man who said to me as we made our own wedding invitations, "You cut like you don't even care." I got a man who had such strong opinions on his kid's name, I am stunned that our son is named what he's named. I got a man who pouts and stomps his feet and whines.
I got a man whose laugh sets me on fire. I got a man who still makes me feel downright lottery-winner lucky when he introduces me as his wife. I got a man whose sense of humor is the only thing that has kept me above water at times. I got the most supportive man, a man who encourages me to blog, to write, to throw parties, to see friends, to work late, to do whatever the hell I need to do to feel like a happy, at-peace woman. I got a man who holds the phone up to our baby boy and lets me jabber on to him when I'm across the country and need a baby fix. I got a man who thanks me, holds my hand, kisses me "hello" and "goodbye" and "you look good today." I got a man who drives me insane, like the really good, shaking with frustration, WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE TO DO THAT? kind of insane and then sweeps me into his arms right when I'm about to explode and says, "You know you love me." Fuck, he's right. I got a man who likes to travel, thank god, and who always kisses me as the plane takes off and the plane lands, just in case, you never know. I got a man who still lets me celebrate our old, dating anniversary and who makes me cupcakes every year on my birthday. I got a man who looked me in the eyes, right before I pushed for the first time in the delivery room and said, with a tear in his eye, "Let's meet him."
He isn't who I wanted. Not at all.