I haven’t been a very romantic guy in a long, long time. I pride myself on how pragmatic I am. I love my wife truly, and take pride in our relationship. It’s a very realist relationship. We look out for each other, we pick on each other, and we talk things through. Neither of us have our heads floating in the clouds, and I love it that way. Sometimes I make a romantic gesture for no other reason than I know she loves it! But for me, I’ve little interest in romance.
A lot of guys are like me, and I think I know why. For the last 8 years, I’ve been slowly working on a novel that is loosely based on some terrible experiences I had about 8 and a half years ago. It is not an autobiography, but fiction loosely inspired by real events. Heartbreak is involved, and seems to be the apex of the story. I write of a character loosely based on me, named Henry, and a female character based on a girl I used to know, named Annabelle. When I first started writing this 8 years ago, those feelings were still so very fresh. Henry, you see, is deeply infatuated with this Annabelle whom he barely knows. He’s got it bad…really bad! When I wrote of it 8 years ago, I could still get those warm, fuzzy feelings. I’d also get the anger at what followed, the most severe heartbreak Henry will ever experience, the kind of loneliness and depression I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Now, all these years later, happily married and truly free from all of that, I get something very different. I do not hate the girl who inspired Annabelle, but honestly, the thought of having any romantic feelings for her now just about made me vomit on my keyboard. I recently remember a mushy, romantic story I wanted to include in this novel. Here, I’ll copy and paste it for you…
We walked through Kensington Gardens, as I held your hand. I told you of Peter Pan as we approached his statue, and you were moved. Your heart was warmed and your cheeks flushed. I looked into your eyes and you into mine, and I slowly pulled you close. As our eyes gently closed, my lips began to meet your lips, and our hearts raced. As we began to kiss more deeply, it began to rain. We were so deep into each other’s embrace, the rain continued as did we.
I just typed this about 30 minutes ago, and it was painful. I was not feeling any desire to have Henry walk with Annabelle, or hold her close, much less kiss her. Ewww, yucky, pitooey! I felt something in my chest area, but it wasn’t my heart pounding. It wasn’t butterflies in my stomach. It was nothing short of disgust. It’s not just Annabelle, it’s the whole idea of falling “head over heels” in infatuation (so often mistaken for love). It’s the same reason I hate chick flicks.
I think that many guys who hate romance, hate it because in the past, romance got them seriously hurt. Guys don’t like being emotionally vulnerable. There’s no strength in talking about how you were heartbroken. But there is strength in scoffing at romance. Part of the reason I so rarely show such romance towards my wife is because I consider what we have to be real, while what Henry has with Annabelle is all just fantasy, based on more fantasy that blended into real life. When fantasy and real life get too close together, terrible things happen.
So ladies, if you and a man are deeply in love, and he makes too few romantic gestures for your liking, keep this in mind. He may love you in a way that is very real. He likely associates romance with something or someone from his past that he does not want to associate with you. Don’t get me wrong, you deserve some romance. Just like you do things for him simply because they make him happy, he should do the same for you. But if it’s only on special occasions and every now and then “just because”, know that he doesn’t love you any less. I don’t know you or your particular situation. But what I present here is just a possibility. The best way to find out, is to just talk to him about it, one to one.
P.S. I know you like that Sheldon and Amy image!