divorce, health, relationship, sex

A Real Man, and a Nice Guy too boot


Between Man-baby’s recent interruption in my boring life and a blog I ran across (which I won’t link to as it was really quite disgusting) I’m thinking about just how lucky I am to have DD.

So, about the awful blog, it’s written by a “man” who sounds an awful lot like Man-baby, only a tad more literate and educated.  He sobs because his wife used to fix four course dinners and give blow jobs under the table.  But now she doesn’t.  Really?!  This is what a woman is for?  Cooking and getting on her knees?  I did not know this, must be why I’m divorced.  I have this crazy idea that I am a whole human in my own right.

And this is the apex of what I love about DD, of why he’s a nice guy who finished last only because he was also the only one to finish.  He lets me do my thing without jealousy or insecurity.  He makes no moves to control or manipulate me.

He is a Real Man, a whole person in his own right.  He doesn’t need me for anything.  His sense of self worth is independent of me.  He knows it is no reflection on him or our relationship if I have coffee with a girlfriend or am content to quietly write alone.  He doesn’t take it personally if I don’t have his lunch ready or forget something at the store but rather understands that I am a fallible human being who tries really hard and does the best she can but isn’t perfect and doesn’t have to be.  Sometimes I have a four course dinner ready, sometimes we eat cold cereal.  Sometimes we have Wow! sex and sometimes we fall asleep at 8:30 with our clothes still on.

And he is a Nice Guy.  I know I can count on him to have my back.  I can count on one hand the times he has forgotten to call/text on his way home to ask if I needed anything from the store.  And those were all  days his boss kept him late.  I’m sure, if asked, he’d even get me a box of tampons and a Cosmopolitan to read in the tub.

Now, before the guys out there jump up and say he’s a wuss, I should point out that he toured Iraq with the United States Marines and that at nearly 30 years old he can lift, carry, and (if he wanted to) throw all 135 lbs of me.  He runs 4-5 miles several days a week.  And it’s not like he’s a dumb jock who’s just really pussy whipped.  He’s a accounting software developer.   He’s got brains.

Did he come from a perfect family and have a charmed childhood?  Not hardly.  His own father committed suicide when he was 4.  He spent years in foster care.  If there ever was a man with reason to claim that he’s been damaged by a hard life it’s him.  But he doesn’t make excuses for himself.  He is responsible for himself and his deeds.  Which is what, I think, defines some one as an adult human being.

None of us can control our past.  We cannot control other people.  All we can control is ourselves in our present moment.  Embracing that responsibility gives us a springboard to do great things.  A real man, one worth the time of a self-respecting woman, will be first and foremost responsible for himself.

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