P.S. I Love You
Feb 01, 2013 12:47AM
Illustration by Aaron Roseli. © Style Media Group
Since Valentine’s Day is this month, I’ve been thinking about love, and love isn’t something I think about much…unless I’m also thinking about pizza or beer.
To be honest, like most guys, I’m not good at discussing what is probably the single most important feeling we can have. My guess is it’s because guys don’t like to look stupid (even though we manage to do so pretty much all the time), and because love is about the most mysterious thing there is. If we’re being honest, it’s something – like the popularity of Fifty Shades of Grey and musicals – that we just don’t get.
But the mystery isn’t about the emotion itself. Look, I know why I love my wife: She’s hot. She’s smart, fun, funny, organized, a great mom, and damn, at the end of the day (and at the beginning, and all ticks of the clock in between), she’s hot…front burner hot. And I’ll bet it’s like that with most guys and the women they love. Superficial? Maybe. Shallow? Seemingly. Honest? Yup.
But wait! Before picketers from the National Organization of Women (NOW) show up at my doorstep, let me make it clear: The initial actual physical hotness factor only goes so far. In fact, it’s downright fleeting. If a woman isn’t also all those other things, it ain’t gonna work. (Unless maybe the guy doesn’t possess all those other qualities either.)
See, here’s the thing (Tom says, as he tries to awkwardly extricate himself from the hole he just noticed himself digging): Hotness isn’t looking like an extra from a 1987 White Snake video (although, again, if I’m being honest, it doesn’t hurt). (Shut up, Tom.)
No, the hotness we guys are drawn to – and this is the truth – is an aggregation, a combination, an integration – if you will – of things like confidence and how she carries herself. It’s her brains, her kindness, her passion and compassion. It’s what kind of pizza she likes, the softness of her skin and how she tried to pretend she didn’t find Step Brothers hilarious. It’s that face she makes when she wants to go shopping and you don’t because the game is about to start. It’s the way she walks, the way she plays with her hair, and how she gets you to dance through the house with her when her favorite song comes on. It’s how she looks when she’s ready for battle and when her guard is down. It’s those dumb little emoticons she sends with her texts and the focus with which she paints her toenails. It’s the patience, tenderness (and sometimes the toughness) she shows the kids, and her elation when they’ve done something good. It’s all those things and one more: that sparkle in her eye. Because it really isn’t a sparkle at all, but an actual spark that, when in the presence of all those other factors, combusts, and wham-o(!) hotness ignites.
For us guys, the mystery isn’t why we love our wives or our girlfriends. That’s not it at all. The mystery is how the hell do they manage to love us? And that’s something we may never know the answer to. But one thing is certain: We’re grateful you do.