Beneficial Misgivings from the Male Gender

How many times have you said, "I can't believe I dated that." Or there's the ever popular, "What did I see in him???" My personal mantra is, "Those were difficult times." There aren't enough appendages on any woman to fulfill the body count of incompatibilities we've encountered. Most of these atrocious blunders would cause us to liquefy into a pool of humiliation if anyone knew the truth of all the rubbish we let ourselves endure. However, if we look back, these faux pas have shaped who we are as women and how we contribute to ourselves and to the world today. So I choose to look upon my dating bungles as a blessing; as one big musical montage like one seen on Americas Funniest Home Videos. I prefer mine to be set to the Anvil Chorus.

In high school, I dated a quarterback/ballerina who told me my best friend looked better in my clothes than I did and another guy who used his late father's inheritance money to buy a truck with super swampers. The third guy I dated used to sleep with his hands in his pants. Even during public naps on the couch.

College didn't fair much better. I revoltingly learned that one guy would put his trash into the drywall of his fraternity house. There was also a blind date turned boyfriend whose name was Leslie and his two best friends were Shay and Blair. In my head, I was thinking he might know how to treat a woman since he and all his friends had women's names. Not so much. However, he did know how to treat a beer and a plate of Mexican food. He was a pathological liar and went back to his ex-girlfriend after dating me for almost a year. At this very dark season in my life, I found myself back in the presence of Mr. Sleepy Handsy Pants until I found out he was sleeping with his hands in the pants of a 19 year-old who lived up the street from my parents. So I rebounded like the Knick's starting center right back to Liar Leslie. He was still Liar Leslie except for a few extra pounds and an alcohol problem and was, of course, secretly still dating the ex. This time, I left many of his valuable things on his front porch when I left. During a thunderstorm. While he was at work.

If high school was a paper cut and college was a kitchen accident, then post college was like a bloody triage center somewhere near the Texas chainsaw massacre. I dated one 30 year-old guy when I was 24 who once brought me back a gift from a 2 week long trip to Colorado because he thought it was funny: a beef stick the size of a Vienna sausage in a package that labeled it "The Little Chub." That, my friend, is what we call a bright red beaming little flag. It was for the best anyway. I didn't like how his earlobes attached to his neck. That and he was sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. Did I mention I'm not an ex-girlfriend fan? Another boyfriend had a guy pass out on his couch who promptly peed on the couch. He took it outside, febreezed it off, sun dried it and put it back in house. Hygiene issues just can't be tolerated. That and his ex-girlfriend tried to beat me up at the bowling alley. Criers are abhorrent. I had one cry because I had a bad day at work. I'm not into other women so I got creeped out and left him like a bad habit. Being that these lovelies were such prizes, I tried dating someone who was heavily involved in the church. I instantly knew he was definitely not "the one" when he told me that he doesn't sin- except for pre-marital sex- and that a deal breaker for him was that his future wife must have fake boobs. He stood me up on Valentines Day so I cyberstalked him on MySpace just to find out he too was dating a 19 year-old. Then came the last in a long line of esteem deprication. Where to begin? This gem was hung up on what? His ex-girlfriend. He had pre-emergent man boobs and sported a pair of Crocs on a daily basis. He loved the Oakridge Boys and 1986 porn videos that I unexpectedly and horrifically extracted one day from his VCR while attempting to watch Three Amigos. My mom told me I was interested in him just because he wore a suit. I hate it when moms are right.

Now to be fair, all of these guys turned into very decent, respecatble men, most of whom have found very beautiful and wonderful women who are great for them in every way. I tip my hat to all of them for the help with personal growth. With that said, along the way, I have figured out the cause of the disaster: Hurricane Me. As Dr. Phil says, "What's the common denominator here?" I put up with so much crap while obviously and literally scraping the bottom of the barrel, desperately looking for validation from someone who could never give it to me anyway. Turns out, God blessed me with this abundance of graceless indignity for one reason: to show me that only His opinion of me mattered. He wholloped me in the dollop so that I could be a person of significance to myself. He is my Redeemer and makes me worth it. And bonus- he's into hygiene.

So what do I need in a man? One who sees what He does and treasures it. One who is ok with the fact that I am ok with myself with or without him. One who is ok with him not being responsible for my happiness. That, ladies, is the prefect man. Hello, Ryan.