Isn't it romantic?

I was talking with Carol (yes that would be you girl) the other night about how I view or better experience, or even better, show love. Apparently, according to Carol, (yes that would be you again girl and don't ever say I never mention you in my journal again) I am not very demonstrative. I forget exactly what her words were, but it was something like I don't get all ooglie or some such thing. You can correct me Dearheart, I am sure you remember much better than I exactly what your words were.

No, no I don't get all ooglie when I am in love. In fact, I am probably anything but ooglie. I don't do all those icky and gross sweetums kind of things that make me puke. You are not going to hear me say snookums with any kind of sincerity in my voice, nor are you going to see me make goo goo eyes at you. You probably won't get those sickening Hallmark lovey dovey cards from me either. In fact, you will be lucky if you get a comical card from me for your birthday. More than likely, you won't get a card at all. It's not that I don't do all those sweet things that people do that endears them to the object of their affection. I do. I will make you cocoa (and add those little marshmallows as a special treat), make you lavish meals and spend my last penny on some dumbass trinket you just have to have. Rub your back, pour you a bath with your favorite smell good bath junk in it, even polish your shoes for you so that you look handsome today. But talk sweet to you or get all oozie and cutesy around you? Never. It's not my style.

I think the real problem with how I show affection is that people are never really sure I am really in love with them. I don't know how to be any different. Being the other way, doing that silly ooglie shit, it would be fake coming out of me. I'd rather take you off to some secluded hideaway, sweep you off your feet, lay you in front of a roaring fire and hand feed you grapes and cheese while I give you a massage using the fabulously fragrant massage oil of your choice. This of course is after I have created the most incredible gourmet meal, probably involving some small game bird of some sort, seasoned with rare and exotic herbs and spices. Before I have wined and dined you, I have probably let you luxuriate in a jacuzzi bath I have made for you filled with rose petals and lavender bath salts (unless of course you hate those flavors, in that case I will have done my homework ahead of time and brought along whatever you like to luxurate in while soaking in a heavenly bath).

You can use your imagination as to what I am going to do with you after all this attention. Suffice to say, I will not be happy until I know you are glowing from the passion of my ardor and are safely asleep in my arms, satisfied beyond your wildest dreams.

Some people would call treating the object of your affection like this romantic. Whatever, call it what you will. Romance is not real life, I am a realist, I want things to be real. Romance is not. I want to know that when I wake up in the morning that you are laying next to me sleeping sweetly by my side. I want to know that you want to make love with me because you need to show me how I make you feel physically, because the thought of me making love with you is so hot you cannot resist sharing that experience with me. I want to know that when you look in your heart that it's me that you see as the one you want to share life with. I want to know that when you look in my eyes that your heart is filled with love as mine is for you when I gaze deeply into your soul. I want to hear you say "I love you", I just want to know you love me. Everything past that is just peripheral bullshit.

That's not romantic, that's just love, pure and simple. Don't make ooglie eyes at me or buy me dozens of Hallmark cards a day (don't laugh, I had a girlfriend that used to buy me at least 5 or 6 gross romantic cards on average a week, and yes, it made me sick to my stomach after a while). I probably won't buy you flowers very often, unless I know you love things like that. Please don't buy me flowers, I rather have power tools. But do know that a new power tool does for me what a dozen roses does for some other people, and in many cases will cost you less.

Take my face in your hands and kiss my forehead once in a while. Hold my hand while we are driving somewhere. Jump my bones once in a while, but more than anything else, wake up with me in the morning touching your body against mine once in a while. That's love to me. When I don't get those simple things, I become so wounded, I wither and die inside. I shrivel up and crawl into my shell. And after a long enough time, I can't come out of it anymore. So please, don't do that to me, it hurts too much.

So ok Carol, does this pretty much meet up with how you think I am when in love? By the way, just so you know, Carol is pretty good at being right about me. I am not sure how she does it, but she is usually right on the money. She's one of those reasons you keep good friends like her around. Someone in your life needs to see you for who you really are.

So I am not sure what brought all this up tonight. It certainly was not what I was thinking about writing about early today. You got this because, frankly, I forgot what it was I was thinking about posting about today while driving home from Tad's.

Ciao.