Fancy Pants

It is with whimsy and unyielding directness that I write this - my 100th blog. And so, I will discuss something of great significance. I don’t like it when men wear those jeans with the fancy flaps on the back pocket.

I know, I know; having said that, there’s a good chance the Universe, with its tendency for irony, will deliver unto me a beautiful man, with a gentle soul and a brilliant mind who's also wearing fancy pocketed jeans. Truth of the matter is, those flaps seem effeminate. The guy could be as burly as all-get-out and able to wrestle a bear to the ground. But should he turn around, and I find those little flaps adorning his behind - I’ll cringe.

I’m sure I wear things that make men cringe. That’s a topic for another day. Today, I’m talking about men.

I also like hair that moves with the wind. No glue-like wax, gel or paste. On that note, I question a man that has meticulously sculpted facial hair. That may be due to my ex. Undoubtedly he has forever altered how I view men. He spent hours in front of the mirror. He also wore lifts in his shoes. Imagine my shock upon discovering those while rooting through our closet. I didn’t care how tall he was, or wasn’t. I did, however, care that he felt the need to put lifts in his shoes. Apparently, he'd been wearing them for years before I met him. But who was I to judge, I often wore a push-up bra. And isn’t it all kinda the same?

So, I’m just going to admit to my hypocrisy straight-up. I don’t like shoe lifts. I don’t want my man using artificial means to make up for what he feels are his short falls. I don’t give men the same breaks I give women. And that’s wrong. And I know its wrong. But I’m 42 and I don’t intend on changing. I want a real man, whether wearing a perfectly fitted suit or a pair of well worn jeans - I don’t care - as long as he owns himself with confidence. 

I don’t like hulk-like muscles either. I favor a lean, strong body. He only needs to be strong enough to hoist me over a mud puddle or into the bedroom. He also has to have a smile that sweeps across his face - often - and without force. A kind heart with an equally kind smile. 

He can’t proclaim to love dogs, then later, when angry, and under the cover of darkness, slice the invisible fence thats buried under the ground; hoping my beloved dogs will run away and into harms way. Doing so will only cause me to pray that fate will put him in harms way. My dogs are like my children. Hurt them, hurt me. Me hurt you.

We don’t choose our name. However, if his name is Dick, I’ll be coming up with a mutually agreed upon pet name. I’m pretty easy going and open minded, but I just can’t call a guy Dick, unless he’s being a dick. 

I like chivalry too. Yes, I’m strong. Life has required me to be slightly stronger than what I’ve believed myself to be. Being able to do it alone, doesn’t mean that is the path for which I chose. There are times, when I'd like to feel a strong, capable hand grasp onto mine. A hand that doesn’t want anything from me, except love. 

I've never seen that, nor have I ever had that. Truthfully, I can't say for certain if such a thing exists, but I believe it does. Just because I've never seen an albino monkey before doesn't mean they don't exist either, because I'm quite certain they do.

Sane