So I’m sitting here, watching The Perfect Man and scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed and I see that one of my friends recently got engaged. I don’t know the whole back story, or how he did it, but the pictures were adorable. They got engaged on a snowy hill in Colorado, him standing in rose peddles, her cheeks red more from anxious excitement than from cold.
And the perfect man is about a girl who creates a fake, perfect man for her mom, who keeps landing in bad relationships. It’s about stumbling into love and not looking for it. After all, isn’t that why they call it falling in love? Because you don’t mean too, you just do.
But on the subject of the perfect man, I sometimes love to dream. Okay, no, I always love to dream. I tell myself that whatever guy I end up with in the end, he’ll be way better than anyone else, but it’s fun to make up your own perfect man. What would he be if you could chose? What color hair? How old? What color eyes? Muscular?
I would want him to be a blonde or brunette. He’s be taller than me, and be maybe a year or two older. He’d have the body of a soccer player or rock star. You know, they’re all tall and skinny, but not gangly. They still have muscles, but not overwhelmingly large ones. It’s adorable. He’d have an accent, preferably British, or even Irish. He’ll have strategically placed dimples and a smile that brightens the room, and his, and his eyes lights up the room. His intense emerald eyes will light up when he smiles, and he’ll make adorably funny faces when I’m upset or we’re fighting, or just for fun. He’d be his own person, and know who he is. He’d be the same in the dark and in the light. He’d be silly and know how to have fun, but also know when to get serious.
But then again, those are only from my imagination, things I like to pretend about. It’ll all change by next week. Some things I am serious about, like my perfect man needing to be the same wherever, whenever, whoever he’s around, no matter what. He needs to know who he is. And also I need someone I can have fun with, someone who I can be both silly and serious with.
There are silly things I want, like accents and dimples, and serious things I want, like a growing relationship with Christ and honesty. And I’m not giving up until I find a guy who meets all my requirements- requirements, not wishful dreaming. Who cares if a guy has blonde hair or black hair? What matters is what he’s like. Call me picky. Call me close- minded. Call my standards too high. Call me whatever you like, but I’m not settling until I find my perfect.
“Because a flower like this is perfect. And giving a woman a dozen of them, it’s like saying there is such a thing as perfect. And it’s out there. Don’t give up. You’ll find it."