When it comes to meeting my husband one day, I’m a little worried. Not because I’m afraid it won’t happen (okay, that’s a complete lie, but moving on) but because I’ve been single for a while. And though this solo stint has taught me at ton about my values and desires, it’s also has given me time to think about thethings I absolutely need in a partner.
Some are a little unrealistic, some are must-haves and others will probably pop up along the way, but in no particular order, here are the things that I’ll need from my future husband.
I need you …
1. To say – and write – loving things to me a lot.
I’m absolutely in love with words. And especially loving words. Even if it’s as simple as “I love you” on a Post-It by the Keurig once a week, do it. I’ll also settle for a text message (or 20), too. Continue reading
If there’s anything being single for the past three years has taught me, it’s that I’d rather be happy by myself then unhappy in a relationship. Maybe it’s because my parents’ almost-30-year marriage is a beautiful example of what I think a great couple is, or maybe it’s because my friends have managed to date really amazing guys. But when it comes to love, whomever I end up with better be the bomb-diggity—or I’ll pass.
That being said—if you ask anyone who knows me pretty well, they’d say that I was pretty picky.
If there’s one thing I won’t reveal on a first date, it’s my last name.
Thanks to a robust writing portfolio and popular dating blog, if a dude searches my name after our happy hour meet-up, he could discovereverything I think about dating, love, and sex. Sorry you’re not sorry, Google! It is sometimes really, really frustrating to have the thing that you love to do be the thing you can’t tell possible boyfriends about (until they get to know you, at least).
Even though it’s something I’ve dealt with since I started writing about my love life four years ago, I’ve never felt ashamed about any of my blog posts until a few weeks ago when I went out with Aaron.
I know you exist.
Somewhere out in this mad city, or this crazy country or this beautifully ridiculous world, I know you exist. You have hopes that I’ve never heard, that I don’t know about yet, but these dreams paired with my wild ambitions will create our future. You have been walking on this planet, doing things and making things and being things that mean something to you. I know you are working that 9-6 (or 7 or 8) just like me, wondering when you’ll get where you’re going, even if you’re not sure where that is, exactly, just yet. I know you wake up every morning and you go to sleep every night, and in those hours, those minutes, those seconds in between, you make hundreds of decisions that have yet to lead you to me.
I know you are loved.
There is this family, these friends, these people that have the privilege to talk to you daily. These people have heard your laugh and felt your embrace, they know your voice when you speak and they have memories that go back to the decades I’ve never known you. There are people who think of you because you’ve actually spent time with them, there are women who have shared your heart and your hands, your bed and been stuck in your head. There are people who know your favorite dish, how you take your whiskey and what team you cheer for on Sundays and Mondays at the pub near your apartment, on some street in some place in some city. There are people who love you because you are already so wonderful.
So here’s the honest truth: I haven’t had sex since July.
I know, I know—you would think for someone who dates as much as I do and is so open about her personal life, I’d be getting a little more nooky. But since I ended that kind-of-relationship with Patrick right after the Fourth of July, I haven’t been laid. Sadly, I haven’t even been touched more than a drunken ass grab outside some crummy bar downtown.