Almost Perfect

When I started this blog a couple years ago, I had a plethora of comically awful dates that made for great stories. And you loyal readers know my motto- "there's no such thing as a bad date, just good dates and good lunch stories."  Well I've had a lot of good dates in the past year or so, but still no happy ending. Unfortunately, when the dates are good but the ending is bad it's not always a story I want to tell. 

My latest failed romance with Almost Perfect started off in storybook fashion at a costume party with dancing and drinks and even celebrating our one hour anniversary with a kiss under the disco ball. For weeks, I had fantastic dates with this charming and gallant man. I felt like the leading lady in a silver screen romance! In fact, I'm not going to go into detail now, but our times together we're so memorable that my writing energies for that month went into documenting our "love story" which would've probably been a self-published book given as my sappy groom's gift at our wedding one day. I could easily picture us growing old together. 

Ok, so you're starting to get the picture that I fell hard and fast for this guy. He truly epitomized everything I'd been looking for over the past three decades! He was sweet and considerate, irreverently funny, handsome, professional, we had complimentary features that made us look good as a couple, we shared values, ideals, and interests, etc, etc... I knew Almost Perfect wasn't perfect, but he was perfect for me.

In past relationships, I've usually had some level of reservations or concerns over things that I knew probably wouldn't play out ideally, but with Almost Perfect I had no inkling of our untimely and unfortunate ending. He showed no signs of douchebaggery. He called on the phone  rather than just texting like so many douchebags do. He made plans with me and carved out time in his hectic schedule to prioritize me. He was there for me when I had a stressful day and took me out to eat and drink whatever I wanted. He appreciated my domesticity which made me feel valued for doing things I like to do. He didn't get angry easily even when I accidentally broke a light fixture at his house. He was kind and courteous to wait staff, and generously tipped, too! (I once saw him discreetly over-tip our waitress when he found out that another table stiffed her.)  He introduced me to his friends. He met some of mine. He pursued me. Until he apparently hit the wall and lost all interest in and remembrance of me.

At one point after I had infected him with a nasty stomach flu that I'd had the week before, I hadn't seen him for a couple days. Now he was busy with work and a lot of projects so it wasn't atypical to go a few days without seeing him, but he had always been great about calling me back and making plans to see me again. So I called him on a Wednesday afternoon, and he answered and talked to me for less than a minute. He pleasantly said he was in the middle of about ten things and that he would call me back shortly...that was the last I heard from him. It's been four weeks now. 

I have no idea how this Almost Perfect man went from wonderful to MIA with no explanation. I was in shock and denial for the first couple days. They say that the five stages of grief - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance -  apply to all sorts of losses, but my breakup stages of grief are best measured in units of alcohol, minutes spent on "revenge body" workouts, number of emotional eating binges before and/or after revenge workout, and the volume of sad Toni Braxton songs played on repeat. (Unbreak My Heart speaks to me on a pathetically personal level)

I loved Almost Perfect. I think I fell in love with him on our first date, which was a crazy good story that perhaps I'll tell another time. At first it was hard to be mad at him or hate him when all of my memories of him are good. I am mad at him now for how he took the cowards way of ending things. Somehow our culture has made it acceptable to men to "ghost" when they no longer want to put in the effort a relationship takes. I texted him the day after he said he would call me back figuring he just got busy with work stuff. Then I texted again two days later. By five days later I left him a voicemail calmly stating that I felt he owed me an explanation for why I hadn't heard from him in five days and requested that he call me back. 

Obviously, I still haven't heard anything. My friends who always have my back in a time of crisis checked for his obituary in the paper/internet since death or coma would've been the only acceptable reasons for him to disappear. At least I can say I'm fortunate to have a lot of people who care about me and I've received a variety of sympathy, tough love, and mostly good advice. I've heard a lot of "it's his loss," which is true because I'm fabulous! But I'm the one who was left to grieve the loss. Some friends have wanted so badly to make me feel better and give me advice so that I'd never hurt again, but if you're not willing to risk hurt I don't think you can find love. 

Moral Of Today's Story:

I have no regrets. I ascribe to Alfred Lord Tennyson's belief that it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I will be cautious, of course, not to have my heart broken again, but I don't want to love out of just part of my wounded heart. Since I'm into cheesy quotes today, I'll borrow from William Purkey and say my next chapter goals are to dance like no one is watching, love like I'll never be hurt, sing like no one is listening, and live like it's heaven on earth.