Love Actually

I want some sweet, lovely, charming, adorable man to show up at my door with cue cards and a boom box, expressing his love for me with hope and passion in his eyes.

Okay, I shouldn’t watch romantic comedies alone at midnight while typing urology reports. But I couldn’t help it. “Love Actually” is just the kind of goofy love story I would like my life to be.

Don’t get me wrong. The ex was probably one of the most romantic men I have ever been with. He did set the bar very, very, very high. When we split up, I took down a basket that had been sitting on top of our china cabinet since we moved in nine years previously. Every time he brought me home a rose or roses, I clipped the best buds and threw them in this basket. It was almost overflowing when I took it down. He gave me roses spontaneously, just because it was Wednesday or just because I had a bad day. A multitude of little gifts and goodies appeared constantly, little reminders of affection.

But as the years passed, what he missed giving me was his heart. That got very buried behind piles of crap and never saw the light of day again. He still gave me flowers, he still gave me lovely little gifts, held my hand while we drove to Fresno, wrapped me in his arms when he wanted to be affectionate. But the eyes overflowing with passion and the goofy lovestruck emotion was long gone. I don’t know if that happens in every long term relationship. I know he really wanted our life to be a romantic comedy but somehow, it turned into a dark little independent film.

Yes, I want the goofy love story and I want the silly little joyful gifts and public demonstrations of affection. But what I guess I really want is someone who is open with their heart. Someone who handles mine like fragile treasure to be handled with care. Someone who doesn’t have to work so hard at the exterior things to show how much I mean to them. Someone whose eyes will do all of that and whose touch will convey all of that.

I write hundreds of little fantasies in my head every day about someone showing up at my door when I’m sick (like today) with a hot bowl of deli chicken soup, smiling sheepishly like they do in romantic comedies and saying, “I was just thinking you might need this.” Or any number of other ridiculous, romantic, unreal and totally not going to happen kinds of fantasies. It makes me a little sad to realize that none of these little fantasies are ever going to come true but yet I can’t help my stupid brain from thinking them.

So I’ll sit here on this grungy blue couch, watching Liam Neeson and Keira Knightley and Hugh Grant and Emma Thompson, et al, fall in love, be wooed in unrealistic and hopelessly romantic ways and I’ll hang on to the never-going-to-happen scenarios in my head and hope that someone will maybe find just one single sappy romantic comedy moment with me and maybe that will be enough. At least for a start.