It’s been a long time since I wrote to you about that bike I wanted for Christmas. (Thanks for bringing it by the way, I loved that thing.) It’s coming up on the holidays, and I’m about at my wits ends. You’re my last hope, Santa. I’m hoping you can come through for me again.
I want a boyfriend.
Yeah, I know that’s not your usual bailiwick. I’m not even sure if my wish qualifies as Human Trafficking. If it does, forget I asked and burn this letter. Neither of us needs the legal hassle. If you think you can help though, that would be great. The thing is, I’m not doing so well finding one on my own. I seem to attract certain types of guys, and they’re definitely not of the “keeper” variety.
There’s the partial amnesiac that seems to have suffered a head injury that prevents him from remembering that he has a wife and/or children. There’s the metro-sexual who spends more a month on manicures, hair appointments and beauty products than I do, and doesn’t really have time for a relationship because their one true love is their reflection. There’s the horn-dogs and the “far-too-youngs”, cougar bait looking for a fast hook up with no strings. And then, there’s the group I seem to attract the most often. The uber-green, rides a bike to work, doesn’t own a car/tv/home, organics only vegetarian who hugs a tree at least once a week.
I know the men that I write about are based on an ideal that no flesh and blood male could achieve. I also know that I’m a collection of quirks, flaws and a genetic tendency to curvaceous that no amount of salad will correct. I don’t want a perfect guy, but I’m hoping maybe you can find one that’s perfect for me.
I guess I’m not actually looking for a boyfriend. What I’m really asking for is my own Happily Ever After. Does that even fit in a stocking? I hope so.
If that’s too tall an order, don’t worry. My back-up wish is easy. Just bring me a few pounds of chocolate and a box of fresh batteries.
Merry Christmas, Big guy,