"Do you want to read John's column before we go to print?" asked my editor last week, regarding the Wink column that the new man in my life had written in my place. It seemed like such a great idea when I asked him if he'd like to do it. I mean hell, I've been writing about the ups and downs and ins and outs of dating and relationships in the pages of the Weekly for over three years now. I thought it would be a total hoot to have someone take my place and depict what it's like to be on the other side of the table, what it's like to be in a relationship with me.
A risky proposition, giving someone else the opportunity to turn me inside out for all to read, but I turned it over to him with my complete and utter trust and support. I told him that I wanted him to be as honest as possible, good, bad or otherwise, because that is what my readers respond to. I told him that no matter what he shared, I would be fine with it because that is the nature of the beast.
Having given him so much leeway, I half expected it to read something like, "Wink and I have been dating for a couple of months now and the only thing I know for certain is that the woman is insane. The only reason I put up with her and her lunacies is that she has an insatiable sexual appetite, enormous breasts and in the heat of the moment does this thing with her left hand that drives me nuts! Really, she is great in bed!" (Please note, I don't know if John actually thinks these things, it's really just a shameless plug on my part.)
"Aside from the obvious quirks like the fact that she really does fart in her sleep, won't sit with her back to a door and can't maneuver through a large crowd unless intoxicated because of her unhealthy fear of shank-wielding strangers, there are other slightly deranged behavioral patterns. For instance, she's a snarky drunk with at least six personalities that I've met so far, my least favorite being the crybaby who starts balling uncontrollably for no apparent reason and then falls asleep in my arms as if everything is just fine.
"She also has this crazy inability to step on or off an escalator because she swears she saw a documentary once about how the mechanical gears can jam causing the escalating stairs to open up, entangling your limbs and ripping them from your body. Then there are her feet, which she very clearly pointed out on the night of our first intimate encounter as 'off limits'. She said, 'I hate my feet. We do not talk about them, we do not look at them and we certainly do not touch them. As far as you are concerned, I don't have feet, understand?' Yes, Wink has eccentricities o' plenty, and don't get me started on her commitment issues ..." You get the picture.
To be honest, I didn't know what to expect. I joked with him that if he were smart he'd take the opportunity to write a public breakup letter and then run for the hills; he disagreed. That led me to fear he might write it as a love letter. I was afraid that if he wrote the column that way, really putting his feelings and emotions for me out there, that he'd be opening himself up to ridicule and scorn. Let's face it: I go through men like most women go through underpants. My picker has been broken for the majority of my single life and on the rare occasions that I have managed to find a decent suitor, there's usually an over/under as to how long it will take for me to f--k it up.
The pressures of this particular relationship have been the most difficult since the conception of Wink. John isn't some nameless, faceless Joe (or John, for that matter) that none of my co-workers have met before. Conversely, he is not only well-known, but very well loved by just about everyone we work with.
When they learn who he is dating, John's friends are supportive and encouraging, because he is kind and deserves to be happy. When my friends learn who I am dating they visually shrink and say things like, "That guy's too nice for you. Don't lead him on," and "Have you got a cardiologist lined up for when you break his sweet heart into a skillion pieces?"
So, more than anything, I didn't want him to look foolish for loving me. I decided to cheat and read it before it was published. That way, if there was even the slightest chance that he could be hurt, I could stop it before it happened; big of me considering my track record.
As I read the words that this remarkable man chose to describe his feelings about being in a relationship with me, I laughed aloud more than once. He nailed me on more than a few of my Sonja-isms, but let the majority slide. He wasn't cruel or heartless or mean, of course; he never is. I think there's a lesson in there for me. His love shined through, but in such a genuine way that eventually and true to form, the crybaby showed up and I sobbed as I read not only the words on the page, but between the lines, his voice, ever-present, whispering to me, "I love you, Sonja." And I loved him right back.
The long and the short of it is this: In love as in life, there are no guarantees, but right now, in this moment, all you nasysayers need to know is ... I'd take the over.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?