Valentine's Day is for Sissies

I know I'm a few weeks late for Valentine's Day, but this is one of those posts that had to get written.

A long time ago, I used to schedule my blog a certain way. Mondays were for "writing" posts, Wednesday's were for "love" posts (as I am a romance writer) and Friday's were all about the Grille. Or was it vice versa with the love and writing? I don't know, I can't remember. But here we are on a Wednesday and I want to talk about love. And I think I will stick with this Wednesday arrangement until I run out of things to say about it.

However, I digress.

photo courtesy of www.cineplex.com

Anyway, as we all know, I am without a paramour at the nonce. This doesn't bother me as much as it used to because, well, I've gotten used to it. Same as I got used to not having a nice glass of wine, or the smell of the ocean as soon as I step outside. One's heart forgets how to yearn for things we think we want as time goes on. Or at least that's what I tell myself.

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I had a dream recently though, that made my heart nearly break wide open. I was with a man in the dream, who coincidentally looked like this.
Cieran Hinds. Triple awesome covered in chocolate sauce with cherries on top.


I can't say for sure what we were doing together, I only know that we were "together". Something about a restaurant as well. Anyway, we were getting ready to open the restaurant for dinner and I got sick. Really sick. I had to go to bed, which I did, in my ratty flannel nightgown, hair a mess, snotty nose, and just plain fugly. At some point, Marie Osmond showed up sitting alone at a table, and was waiting for her food. She wasn't Marie in the dream, but just a nameless gorgeous woman.

I remember in the dream, Mr. Man walked over to her table and laughed and joked with Ms. Gorgeous. I stood hiding behind a crack in door watching all this take place. I KNEW he was going to make a play for her. I knew it to my bones and stood there crying and snotting all over myself. I was a wreck.

Somehow Mr. Man heard my blubbering, rushed into the kitchen, scooped me up, and deposited me back into my bed. Standing over me with a stern look on his face, he said, (in his sexy accent) "What do you think you're doing?"

And I said, (still crying), "She's so gorgeous, and has so much more to offer a man like you. I know you're going to leave me so just go already."

And he said, (are you ready for this) "Are you daft? What in bloody hell would I do with a woman like that? You're more than enough woman for me."

Okay, now that we've all picked ourselves up from our swoon, wasn't that just the coolest dream? And therein, my friends, lies the quintessential rub. It was just a dream.

I've done dream analysis over the years, and this only tells me what I've absolutely known about myself all along. This is the kind of man I want. One who doesn't care how I look. Or how much money I make. Or that I'm totally insecure about my relationship. One who doesn't just cover me with chocolate and candy hearts on Valentine's Day, but who's with me for the long haul, through sickness and health, richer and poorer, insecurities and snots, and ratty flannel nightgowns.

And please, this isn't a post about finding someone. I've heard it all before -- You'll find someone when you aren't looking. You'll find someone when you least expect it. You'll find someone in the frozen foods section at the market. blah blah blah. I'm not looking, haven't looked for YEARS. Perhaps I've set my standards just a tad too high, but I'm not backing down. I know who I want.

And no it's not "the perfect man". They don't exist. Everyone has their faults, myself included. It's what we can overlook that makes them perfect for us.

I have loved a few men during my lifetime. Really loved, passionately loved, would have died for that love, put up with what you wouldn't believe for that love. But none of them ever wanted to stick through with me to the end. None of them (obviously) cared enough deep down for me the way I cared for them. Sure I got cards and candy on Valentine's Day, flowers for an anniversary, even a diamond ring or two, but in the end it didn't last. That "thing" was always missing.

That "thing" being the inexplicable that binds two people together. For whatever reason, that you just "know" he's the one. That you can fight for and through whatever life throws at you and you'll handle it TOGETHER.

So leave me to my dreams of imaginary Cieran Hinds. He's more than enough man for me.

Tell me -- What is it about your significant other that makes him perfect for you? What faults do you overlook? Does he shower you with gifts only on Valentine's Day or will he hold your hair back when you throw up?

Anne Gallagher (c) 2013