Makin' The Rounds
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Tales of the proposal seem to be making the blog rounds. Probably has something to do with Valentines Day. And it occurred to me that I haven't written about the Hubby-Man proposing to me. So here's part one:

My hubby is amazing in the romance department. He gave me a rose on our first date. (Friday, Feb. 13th) The next day he sent me a valentines card. One date, and he sent me a card! It was just the right mix of silly and mushy, expressing an interest instead of endless devotion. Much like the non-red rose he gave me. It was thoughtful and romantic without being over the top. And I didn't know how to cope with it. I didn't know how to accept his simple gifts. I felt unworthy. A month later I broke up with him.
I ran into him at a party and fell for him all over again. We dated briefly, and I dumped him. We almost dated a third time, but I screwed that up by letting my friend mangle some pictures he had of me. I mean, when someone dumps you, you're supposed to mangle the pictures, right? You're supposed to scribble all over their faces, tear the photos to shreds, burn them in a mini bonfire and listen to depressing heavy-metal music. Crying is optional. Then you're supposed to drink half a bottle of vodka. That's just the way it's done. But the Hubby-Man didn't do any of that. He put the pictures away and moved on. When it looked like we might get back together, he dragged the pics out and showed them to me in an attempt to make me see my own value. So I let my friend wreck the pictures.
The Hubby-Man was really hurt by that. And I wanted him to hurt.(yeah, fucked up much?)
It's a guilt I'll carry to my grave.
And so, I dated a string of losers while working on my self-esteem. I had thrown away a perfectly good man, and I knew it. I vowed that if another perfectly good man came into my life, I suck it up and let him love me. I met a few almost good men. But none of them fulfilled me the way the Hubby-Man had. There was love, and generally passion too; but it was incomplete. I believed the Hubby-Man had moved on. Friends told me he'd joined the Army, and I figured that was that.
And then he called.

I was in the kitchen with my almost-good-enough-to-marry boyfriend. The one I was convinced was my soul mate. The one who loved me with a devotion that rivaled the Hubby-man himself. The one who I loved unconditionally, until the phone rang.
Upon hearing his voice, the room faded out. My boyfriend ceased to exist. It was just me and the Hubby-Man, connected by electrons in a phone line.
Maybe this time I was good enough. After all, how often does opportunity knock? In my case, it knocks 4 times.