A Love Story:The Guy who was Never the Man of My Dreams

When I met my husband I was dating someone else. I was unavailable - in theory. I also had visions of someday marrying a man who was tall, dark and handsome - naturally. I thought he'd be a professional, or a guy I'd meet in grad school. I thought he'd be at least five years older than me and a spiritual giant.

My husband had blond hair. And a beard. He was a jock - of all things. I had definitely not planned on a jock. When I met him, my husband's faith was brand new. It was authentic, but we are not talking spiritual giant material here. And he was from rural New Mexico; he spoke English with a Spanish inflection! SO NOT MY TYPE!

Despite my best intentions, I was attracted to him - very attracted to him. The thing about jocks, particularly those of the ex-track star variety, is they tend to have very nice legs. It must have been a God ordained thing, because I even found his beard kinda sexy and his tacky t-shirt amusing. I've always been one to thumb my nose at the notion of love at first sight. I think I am still a bit of a cynic, but there was something...some connection, some attraction, and it was mutual.

But more than that annoying physical attraction I was impressed with the man. Particularly, I watched how my future hubby treated his friend, Cindy. I knew Cindy was "just a friend"; there were no ulterior motives. And, unbelievably, Cutie Pie treated his friend with respect. He opened doors for her. He listened to her. He was generally respectful, and gentlemanly. And it wasn't just Cindy, I started to notice, he treated everybody that way. Whatta ya know a genuinely nice guy?

When I was in college the vogue thing to do was to go swing dancing. I, occasionally, went with my boyfriend, El Creepo. I always felt like my arms were coming out of their sockets when I danced with him. He jerked me around and, had I the wherewithal to define it, I would have said dancing with El Creepo was a pretty good metaphor for the relationship in general. Lots of jerking around. Lots of disrespect.

Then I danced with my Cutie Pie. Guess what! He knew how to dance. He was good. And never once did I feel like I was being jerked around the dance floor. Never once. He led me with confidence, and strength, and gentleness. Dancing with him made me look good. Now I do have the wherewithal to define it, and I'd say dancing with with that tall blond man all those years ago is a pretty good metaphor for our relationship now. (Can you tell I am still smitten?)

My self-confidence was pretty bruised up after my too long relationship with El Creepo. And though I'd never recommend dating on the rebound, it worked for me. My Cutie Pie restored my hope in men, and he loved away so many of my insecurities.

He was never a Boy Scout growing-up, but if ever there were a Boy Scout at heart it would be my husband. I remember going climbing with Cutie Pie and a couple of friends shortly after I met him. I sustained an injury. I got a really really big splinter. Cutie Pie, always prepared, whipped out his first aid kit and performed surgery on my hand right there. My hero. Always prepared, and capable. To this day the kids go to him with their injuries. Mommy can kiss it, but Daddy makes it better.

If you know me at all you know that I can be....dippy. I'm really pretty smart, but sometimes I can be an astounding ditz. I've come to accept this about myself, though I sometimes still get irked at how distractable I can be. Hubby, aka Cutie Pie, is grounded. He's capable, and strong. He is not particularly imaginative, or introspective. (okay he's not even a little introspective). I can spend an entire day with my head in the clouds; Hubby gets stuff done. He is so different than me, and so not the man of my dreams. But ours is a match made in heaven. I am a better, more whole me, for having been loved by him.

So to quote the corn ball 1950's song, "Cherished is the word." And I am the luckiest girl in the world.