The guy you always think about no matter how long it’s been since you’ve last seen him.
The guy you just adore and idolize despite being, well, a guy. Because he’s the guy.
Last night I had dinner with the guy. After over a decade of knowing one another, there is no doubt in my mind that he is that guy in my life. The one and only, the guy I put on a pedestal and think is god-like despite his succumbing to the affliction that we so fondly and delicately refer to as man-dumbness here in Andshelaughs world.
After a long, loooong girl talk about the guy today, I decided that I’m going to throw my hat in the ring one more time with this fellow. He still, after all of these years makes my heart beat fast, and feel like a girl. That’s saying something because my nine-to-five is a pretty sober gig, and my personal life hasn’t allowed much space for romantic indulgence.
My mumster said, after listening to me review the events of last evening, including the double shot of scotch I so thoughtfully ingested just prior to meeting him to calm my nerves, “Did you tell him all that?”
Of course not. I could talk a Speak-and-Spell into the ground, and frankly, both the guy and I are literary types. Sometimes words get in the way. I simply explained to him that he was the guy.
I could be wrong of course. Lord knows that I’ve been wrong before, but that’s ok. I’ve got experience being wrong, and I can almost sorta deal with the emotional fall out provided there’s wine, chocolate and beach vacations available.
What you really need to know is that you can trust me gentlemen. When a woman says that to you, you can do very little that is wrong. Except disappearing, which apparently the guy and I think that the other is guilty of.
If you are the guy, you are adored, thought about, and each and every time her phone rings, vibrates, dings or buzzes, she hopes it’s you. She always hopes it’s the guy.