The Laundry List

Well, I have walked through my year of firsts. I would not dare say that I am finished with my grieving process. I harbor no illusions. The good news is that now I am to face nothing that I have not faced before therefore I am better equipped to do what I must. The one thing that hangs over my head is reentry into the dating world. Before I go any further let me explain why this is such a daunting task. The last time I had a first date was May 14, 1987. Yes, almost 23 years ago. The world has changed into a place that though I am familiar with, but I am more than a foreigner, I am an alien.

The last time I looked about for male companionship, and it is not bragging to say that I have never actually looked, it always found me. At that time one actually had to stop at a payphone to call someone from the road. We met people in person before we actually spoke to them. I was also 19 years old. Nevertheless, my friends have begun asking “What are you looking for in a man?” So I have complied somewhat of a “Laundry List.” I have no doubt that it will be offensive to some, outrageous to others and unattainable to the rest. But since you asked, here goes.

First, I need a man who is 6’0 or over. I am 5’7 without shoes. With them I end up somewhere between 5”11 and 6’1. I will not give up my shoes for any mans vanity. They are as much a part of me as my nose. Wouldn’t want me to give that up now would you? Second, I like a good sized man. I am not talking about Sumo wrestler size, but he needs some meat on his bones. Fit is fine but he needn’t chase me about with a pair track shoes expecting me to run along beside him. I wouldn’t run if a bear were chasing me. Why would I salt and warm his food? I somehow think I might be mauled but not eaten if I were in the fetal position with a fecal matter sauce. But warm and salty I am a goner. He can run and jump and do as he pleases, I will be in the house with my Wii Fit. As long as I can outrun the last person in line in a horror movie, it’s all good.

In the area of age, there can be no one under the age of 35. If you have no idea where you were when Ronald Regan was shot or who Bad Company was then I haven’t the time to explain. Furthermore, no one over the age of 50 is acceptable either. If you have issues understanding of the abbreviations, IDK, NP or WTF in a message or dating me would have been a crime when I was 16, again, I haven’t the time to educate you either. There can be no small children bearing your DNA anywhere on Earth. Small to me is under the age of 15. I cannot have curtain crawlers or yard monkeys about me that I cannot kill and claim insanity. I do not like children. I will say this again, I do not like children. I don’t find them cute or endearing. I find them messy and cootie filled like a Krispy Kreme donut. If the said gentleman has children, I prefer that the maternal unit not be either needy or insane. Take crazy somewhere else, my container is full.

I suppose that the last thing is that I need an Alpha male. If you don’t know what one is, you aren’t one so that leaves you out of the running. If I can run over this man, I will. I cannot help it. It will also render me incapable of respecting the specimen. I need a strong individual who knows exactly who he is in this world and is secure within himself. Now I am not speaking of a Grade A, USDA stamped asshole. There is a balance. If he is an asshole and I am a heartless bitch, we will end up on the news rather than living happily ever after. I don’t look good in orange, therefore, prison is not really an option for me. Those flip-flops with socks are hideous. Kill me now.

Does this list seen a bit difficult to fill? Good. It’s supposed to be. I designed it that way with a purpose in mind. There is not a man on Earth that can fill Richard’s shoes. He cannot be replaced. The manner in which he loved me was a once in a lifetime kind of thing and can never be duplicated. He loved me from the age of 19 until he closed his eyes forever. He saw me mature and change and loved me because of it not inspite of it. He knew every bump, bruise and scar. He knew my likes and dislikes. He knew me. He treated me like a Queen. Richard once told me that when he fell in love with me it frightened him because I possessed his soul. He fully believed in his heart that he could not live without me. I have often mused in my mind what he would have done had it been me that had left this world far too early. There is nothing I would not do to spare him this pain. I will never find what I had with him again. There is a tale in Jewish mythology that says when God creates a soul, he splits in half and sends it into the world. These two halves search for one another relentlessly often never finding each other. When they do it is said that they are “Beshert.” We were such a pair so there was but one.

I am not saying I will not find love again. I am saying I am older and wiser. That rush, that panic, that euphoria will never be what it once was because I am not who I was when it found me the first time. When the time is right someone will appear who wants his own place in my life and in my heart. Someone who won’t want to compete with Richard because he won’t want to be a replacement. He also will know me well enough to know that with all of the Louis Vuitton in my closet, I would never accept a cheap imitation of an original.