I’m often come across talk of “soulmates,” about how there is that one someone special out there for everyone. Every shoe has it’s perfect match, apparently. I could probably just be content with someone whose company I enjoy, though obviously I do wish for more. I want the fairytale, if such things even exist, but I’m not holding my breath. Nothing and no one is perfect, so I’m not holding out for that. I get really disheartened at times when I see what’s out there though. I have dropped my standards when it comes to what I expect out of a man, but I refuse to let go of them completely. I shouldn’t have to.
About a week ago I was excited when a fairly okay looking doctor (but who I suspect is balding since his pictures seemed somewhat strategically cropped) reached out to me. Let’s start off with a little snippet from his dating profile…
Sounds good right? Perfect for me.
We exchanged numbers and texted a bit. He didn’t seem anything like the guy in the profile. Actually, the man was pure and unadulterated asshole. Here excerpt from our conversation…
Well, to make a long story short, we did not meet. I was completely put off.
So, as far as soul mates are concerned, I accept the responsibility of being my own. The way things are going down, that’s the only choice I really have. And I got to tell ya, I’m getting kind of awesome with the way I treat me. I think I’d make a fab boyfriend! I didn’t want me to feel sad on Valentine’s Day so I did all sorts of lovely things for myself. I am loving myself in the way that I would like someone to love me. I guess that’s the next best thing. Admittedly, it’s a far cry from having a romantic partner, but I’m not going to lower myself to the degree where I’m going to waste my time with a butt wipe, whom I imagine is probably a racist and a Trump supporter (yeah, I totally made that up in my head, but I believe it wholeheartedly). The spirits of my female ancestors did not manifest in my soul so that I could be the foot stool for some fuckwit’s feet. This much I know. Therefore, if I can’t get kindness and respect from a man, I shall give it to myself. In the process, I have decided that I may just ridicule the douche bags that cross my path on my blog … because, hey, it’s kinda fun. And if I wasn’t able to laugh about it, I’d probably cry. Those of you who know me, know that I do that too. A bit less often these days, but it still happens.
So how did I treat myself on Valentine’s Day? I bought myself a lovely Marc Jacobs tote. It is perfect for work. I plan to use it as my everyday bag. It has this gorgeous bright red interior that makes me feel happy every time I open it. And guess what? I didn’t even buy it on sale. I just treated myself to exactly what I wanted when I wanted it. It was a bit pricey, but whateva. I also ate some delicious buttery shortbread. One by one, I polished off the whole box. For dinner I made myself one of my favorites: wings. I make mine in the oven. It’s an easy recipe: 1 part honey to 1 part harissa (Moroccan spice paste) which I brush on to the chicken once it is cooked and crispy, then back in the oven another five minutes. The trick to getting them crispy is to pat them as dry as possible when raw, salt them, and then cook them on a high temperature on a rack that allows the fat to render. No oil. Nothing is as good as fried, but this is a very satisfying alternative. Try it, tell me what you think.
I do acknowledge that there are good men out there. I have met a few. I know they actually exist, but I haven’t met the one who is right for me. Until then, I am in my own care. I want to do right by me. Partner or not, I hope you will do the same. Nobody will ever know how you need to be teated better than you. Be careful of what you tolerate because you are showing people what you will accept. Show them how it’s done dollies!
Lots of love and kisses to all my readers on Valentine’s Day. I love you.