Where has WordWhiz been??

It’s becoming undeniably clear that I have fallen off the deep end.

The Complimenting Complimenter is looking for blogs to visit and heap praise upon. I’ve always had a list to offer up for consideration. Tonight, I had only three. I can’t even keep up with my favorites, mucj less scout for new places to visit! And speaking of CC, last time I visited, readers were debating this blogger’s gender. Now we all know HE is a married male with a new female daughter. When did this happen?? Where have I been?

This is where I’ve been…when not in person, then at least in my mind. I’m hopelessly, disgustingly, sickeningly and wonderfully in love. Sorry Sandra, but when you get to be my age, the whole “bad boy” concept just doesn’t float your boat anymore. Neither does the over-confident, plays-hard-to-get, self-important guy who is (if the truth be known) far more interested in himself than he is in me.

I’m a pretty simple girl. I live in the country. I sing in my church choir. I’m not looking for a luxury lifestyle. It generally doesn’t take a guy to long to figure out that I’m a pretty low-maintenance girlfriend. I’m the kind of girl who’s really impressed the first time he opens the car door for me. After that, I feel badly that he’s walking ALL THE WAY around the car when he’s got keyless entry. “Just push the button. I can open my own door.”

If you want to wretch when my friend Kira blogs about Alex or when Hof and A* post nauseatingly sweet tributes to each other, then stop reading now.

I’m dating the most wonderful guy I have ever met. He treats me like I’m made of gold, no matter how much I protest that it is unnecessary. (Yes, I know I shouldn’t protest; it’s a reflex!) He leaves me sappy messages daily. He asked me today if I was sick of them. Sick of them?? Is he kidding??? I live for them!! He calls me every night. He brings flowers, plans dates based on what I like to do, makes me call when I get home from a date so he won’t worry about me, tells all his friends about me…in short, he always puts me first. I’m 45-years-old, and I’ve NEVER had anyone treat me with the sort of respect, admiration and love that Paul does. Yes, that’s me swooning over here.

I spent much of the past couple of years frequently feeling lonely and depressed. I suffered over a relationship I thought should have been perfect. He was “perfect” in a lot of ways. We had a ton of stuff in common. “On paper” we were the ideal match – the sort of people friends like to fix up. “I have the perfect guy for you!!” But, while he agreed that it should have been perfect, it just didn’t feel that way to him.

In retrospect, I wonder why I allowed myself to suffer so much over his on-again/off-again interest. I guess because I didn’t know what I was missing. I thought guys like Paul were merely figments of some romantic novelist’s outrageous imagination. No REAL guys act like that! I was wrong.

I’m now trying to convince my teenage daughter, who grew up with a father who is extremely self-centered, that guys like Paul DO exist and she should HOLD OUT for one! Her father is a decent guy, and we’re still friendly, but as two marriage counselors told me, “He’s a narcissist. He doesn’t mean to treat you like crap. He’s just too self-focused to even realize that he’s doing it. It simply doesn’t occur to him to consider your feelings.” I suspect that was intended to be helpful advice, although I’m not exactly sure how it was supposed to help.

I keep waiting for the bottom to fall out. There must be something negative in this situation somewhere, right??

Until I discover that down-side, if one does exist, I’m looking forward, with anxious and impatient anticipation, to our trip to New Hampshire on Sunday. THREE WHOLE DAYS…just the two of us…no kids, no work, no outside influences, no escape. Does he snore or hog the blankets? Will he run screaming when he sees what I look like first thing in the morning? Will we find ourselves craving some space as desperately as we’re now craving some privacy??

You’ll have to check next Wednesday’s post.