I realized this summer that I miss physical intimacy. For someone who's personal bubble is bigger than Texas, it surprised me how much I miss it.
More than that, I realized that I’m ready for a relationship. With these two realizations, over the course of the summer - many Fridays, much whiskey, and endless laughter - a classification system evolved.
Once it's determined that he is attractive and (more importantly) available, he gets classified.
We’re not going to go into what I find attractive. That's another post altogether and the matrix for that is complicated and completely subjective.
Busted Barstools, Notches, Broken Tables, and Perfect Paintings.
I didn’t realize until just now that apparently I think of men as furniture. I’m sure there’s something to be gleaned from that. later. not today.
Back to the topic at hand…
Busted Barstool: This is that stool at the bar that’s always there. After four or five drinks, it starts to look really inviting. Heck, it’s closer to the bartender, right? And it will get more appealing the more you drink. Hopefully, if you’re that drunk, you’ve got a friend who will remind you that you don’t like sitting at the bar.
A hook-up. Not for me, ever. Just not who I am. Totally okay with those that are. More power to ya. I’m gonna go sit at the slightly wobbly table in the corner.
Notch: A notch on your bedpost. It’s your bed. You like it. It’s comfortable. Adding a notch isn't going to hurt it, it adds character. A reminder of good times. It makes you smile.
Totally a one-off event, with the possibility of an encore. There are no expectations, no regrets and you don’t flinch every time you see them, instead you smile. And it’s not awkward.
Broken Table: That adorable, slightly damaged table you saw in the window of the thrift store. You like it. But…you’re not sure…so you walk away. Every time you walk past the window it’s there. You just keep thinking about how awesome it is. It has potential. Yeah, there are flaws, but you like it more than you don’t. You want it. You go back to the store…
if it’s gone, oh well, someone else saw the potential.
… if it’s still there, YES. You bring it home. It’s great. It comfortably fits exactly where you want it, and the flaws aren’t really noticeable. You don’t need to fix it, as is it will be great until you get tired of it or you find a better table. You might take it to family functions, cause, you know, a table is always handy at a function.
A low-maintenance relationship. If you both happen to have an evening free at the same time, you’ll happily get take-out and pretend to watch a movie, or go to the family bbq. Both parties expect the other to let them know if they’re found someone more interesting, and that’ll be sad, but not heart breaking.
The Perfect Painting: You see it. You understand it. Instantly your heart hurts or your chest is full of butterflies. You’re floored that someone created it. It fits perfectly in your life. Just looking at it gives you joy. You must have it. You can’t imagine ever getting tired of it, you love and cherish it. You are amazed that this beautiful, perfect painting is yours.
One day I’ll bring home the perfect painting.
Right now though…Right now I’ve got so much going on that the last thing I need to add right now is a priceless piece of art to worry about. I’m not avoiding looking, if I run into the perfect painting, I’ll happily welcome it into my home. But I’m not going to all the galleries in town searching for it.
So there you go. Men are furniture, at least in my head.