April 3, 2012 § Leave a comment
I don’t date guys unless they have tattoos. “Tattoos” plural – the kind that covers an entire arm, not the hidden ones attained during a “wild” college phase. For anyone who knew my ex-husband, this does not come as a shock. However, I feel at times that I have to reiterate this requirement – mostly to those people who think I should find love in the next guy to come along. And, at odd times, it is something I have to remind even myself.
I do have an exception to the tattoo rule – long hair. Dreadlocks, hippy hair, Keith Green ‘fro, the grunge ‘do, a small ponytail, a shaggy mess… that can get a man past the tattoo rule. I know what I like, and I am tired of people trying to tell me that I will fall in love with someone that is opposite of my standard. Again, folks, did you see my last husband?! Or the guy before that? (That one gave himself a tattoo…the old fashioned way.)
Do I have an exception to the hair rule? If I do, I cannot say (and no, it is not money). What it comes down to is that I know what I like. I do not always know what I want, but I know who I am. And I like to think that is how I roll with everything in my life, not just men.
Somehow this seems to be a debatable topic as of late. That makes me a little bit sad. I change my mind about a lot of things and often, but having a grasp on who we are as individuals is something that seems to be at the very base of everything we produce whether it be humor, compassion, art, and how we grow as beings – our hobbies, companions, and goals.
I love cheese. I love trying new cheese. But I know that no matter what, I will always love Gouda. I have an open mind when it comes to food and will try just about anything. There are very few things I do not enjoy eating. I know this because I spend a lot of time eating, trying new restaurants, and picking odd items from the menu. But none of this can be compared to my interest in men. And I have learned that the hard way.
Men are not cheese. My love for food is a lot different than my love of a certain type of man. Tonight as I browsed the market for cheese, I realized this. The curly haired man with full beard and relaxed demeanor caught my eye as he headed out the door with his bag of groceries. The row of raw goats’ milk cheeses seemed a little less interesting after he left so I decided to settle for the Gouda already at home in the fridge. But that will be the only thing I settle for in a long while.