Love is lovely. I would choose the feeling of being in love over any other high in the world. My experience with hard drugs is limited (read: nonexistent) but I still stand firmly behind the previous statement.
Last week, one of my closest friends called me to tell me Surprise! She Is In Love. She lives a few time zones away, so we don’t get to catch up as much as I would like. As we squeed over the details (you know, the high-pitched sound a group of girls make when excited. Squeeeeeeeeee!) I was impressed to learn that she has known him only three weeks. Now all you pessimists out there are going PPFFFFFT, but this is my space, and so I don’t really care what you think. (I do! I do care! Please praise me in the comments section.) Although I have never fallen in love in three weeks, I do believe it’s possible. My grandparents knew each other for two weeks before my grandfather asked my grandmother to marry him. They were married until they were old and pruney.
Anyway, I proceeded to ask friend the Two Most Important Questions that follow after that “Tell me what he is like” exchange: 1. What is he like in the bedroom? And 2. What is he like in the kitchen? This is important stuff.
So my friend told me that her man is “perfect.” I told her there is no such thing as perfect and she disagreed.
The dictionary describes perfect as entirely without any flaws, defects, or shortcomings.
When it comes to people, there is no such thing as “perfect.” We are complex; in our complexity, we are certain to have flaws. When you really love someone, you love their flaws, but that does not mean they are flawless. You know you have found someone special when you really, truly, love them for their flaws. I have a really romantic term for this: Loving their shit. I haven’t loved that many people’s shit. Usually, it stinks and I just look the other way when it bubbles up to the surface. But you know you have it good when someone can act completely and utterly disgusting, or self-centered, or arrogant, and you love them not in despite of it, but because of it. You love them for their humanity.
I know that when my friend called her new guy perfect, she meant he is perfect for her–that she loves his imperfections–and that is legitimate. What constitutes “perfection,” or what we look for in an ideal partner, changes from person to person. Those imperfections you find endearing might be extremely grating to someone else.
Others might think this is:
Others might think this is:
Some might think this is the perfect surprise gift:
And even more others might think this is:
Dammit, now I’ve lost my point with fun visual references. There really is no “perfect” person. They don’t exist. If they did, they wouldn’t ever eat too much Indian food and have bad gas, or drink too much and pass out before you’re done but after they’ve finished. They would never get over-emotional during those heart-breaking SPCA commercials (Damn you, Sarah McLachlan) or get drunk and accuse you of being a slut because they are worried their predecessors have superior mattress skills. Whoops.
If you keep holding out for “Perfect,” you will end up like Gretchen, here:
To recap, this is what I told my friend: No such thing as perfect; everyone has flaws. But hopefully you can find someone whose flaws entertain and amuse you, and who feels the same about you too. Hopefully. Don’t hold me to that, what do I know? So, what is your idea of perfect? Do you love someone’s shit? I wanna know!