Dear Katy,
I am 25 years old and
consider myself a sensible young woman. I know that the world is not
perfect, and neither am I. I realize that I may never find a man who meets
my standards in every way, and I am mature enough to accept that and move
on with my search for happiness. Happiness, which I, being sensible and
mature, realize will never be perfect happiness but will hopefully be high
on the happiness scale, maybe an 8.5, but I am willing to settle for even
less, assuming that I am in love. Not perfect love, but pretty good love.
My boyfriend, who I
will call Frank, is a heck of a swell guy. We have been dating for six
months now, and if he has a lick of sense, I expect him to pop the
question soon. Pop the question – as though a question were a bubble of
some sort, or a balloon. Isn’t that so odd. If a question pops, does it
cease to exist, or is the popping sound forever ingrained, somewhere in
the brain… I think it’s the medulla. But I digress.
When I first met my
boyfriend Frank (who really is named Frank, but I thought wouldn’t it be
clever if I said ‘who I will call Frank’ because then the only person who
wouldn’t be a suspect of my query would be Frank) was a 9, or maybe even a
9.1. Not perfect, mind you, but way up there, only a point (give or less a
tenth) away from perfection, which I suppose, is as much as I have any
right to expect. I mean, I’ve quit believing in fairy tales.
Lately, however, I
have begun to skew him downwards because he is just so judgmental. This is
a trait that I don’t care much for in a man, and once it began to rear
it’s ugly head, I started revising downwards. He now stands at an 8.2,
which if you have been following me, is a bit shy of my threshold.
Let me give an
example. Recently we were eating at a lovely restaurant named Victoria’s,
when ‘Frank’, much against my innermost heartfelt wishes, ordered lamb
chops. My heart was set on the ‘Lover’s Feast for Two’ which is really
special in the sense that it has two of everything – two salads, two
filets, a double-sized baked potato which two can share, and two
individual servings of Victoria’s chocolate mousse. You should try it,
Katy, if you ever come to Atlanta and have someone very special to share
it with.
Hiding my feelings, I
asked ‘Frank’ why he chose the lamb chops, and he said that it was because
lamb chops were the best food in the whole wide world. He called them ‘the
bomb’. Can you believe that? ‘Perhaps I don’t share your fondness for lamb
chops’, I thought to myself. I ordered the scallops au gratin, which I
only ended up picking at.
So my question to you
is this, Katy. Should I try to overlook Frank’s harsh and judgmental
nature? (Lest you think this is an isolated incident, last night he told
me that Pink Floyd was the best band ever. I don’t even like them.) I am
still young, as I said, one score and five years. Should I settle for an
8.2? That seems awfully low to me. Forget that I asked.
No, tell me. I want to
be sensible, not judgmental like ‘Frank’.
Sign me as,
Weighing My Options
