Jimm

When asked as a teenager, what kind of guy are you attracted to, I said dark.

Dark hair at least with very dark eyes.

I also said that I wanted a man with hair. Not some smooth, boyish type.

I wanted a real man.

My roommate in college told me that I should meet this guy who was on the yearbook staff. She said I'd like him. She said he was blond, blue-eyed, and super nice.

"Not interested" I said, but politely cooperated with her efforts to be nice to me.

He was very blond, very blue-eyed, and was wearing a very creamy yellow sweater.

"Maybe I'm interested" I said to myself and promptly asked him if I could borrow his sweater sometime.

He said yes.

I stained it.

He asked me out anyway.

Our first date was a lovely mess.

He did everything wrong. Not on purpose - just a bad night for him on the suave front.

We were both into theatre. He liked blond women in old movies. Marilyn Monroe and Princess Grace. He tried that night to make me look like Marilyn.

He burnt my forehead with a curling iron.

We reinacted the murder scene from "Dial M for Murder".

He broke my window in the process, with his bum.

Before the night was over, he had broken the knob off the TV, the handle off the fridge door, and we had fallen in love.

In my opinion, love doesn't require perfection. The boldest love feelings that I possess are for the 2 most beautifully imperfect people. My daughter, of whom I've spoken before and my husband, Jimm.

The way we began is the way we live. We stumble and bumble, we laugh, we get frustrated, and we don't take ourselves too seriuosly. We help each other with the breathing and with the being human part.

I still want a real man - the one I have will do very nicely.