The ideal husband



    In a conversation last week, a guy-friend of mine (funny how we’ve created a word to avoid commitment) said to my shock, “A girl who wants to get married? Ha! I’ve never met one.”

    He lives in Provo.

    He goes to BYU.

    He knows a lot of girls.

    Is he wrong, or are all the stereotypes wrong? I’ve heard them all. BYU co-eds are merely hunters, chasing their prey and setting traps, never ceasing until they’ve lured you into a ring. At BYU, every date is an interview, and the get-to-know-you questions don’t involve hometown heroes and favorite movies — it’s your five-year plan and what you want to name your future kids.

    So, are girls afraid of marriage or are they hungry for it?

    We’re both, and we are allowed to confuse things like that because we’re women.

    Who wouldn’t want a ring, a dress, flowers, ice sculptures and all your friends in something hideous? Who wouldn’t want a love worthy of such celebration?

    I want it. I want to think that no matter how much time I spend with “Mr. Right” it’s never enough, I want saying goodnight to take way too long because I hate to see him walk away. I want to like being this cheesy.

    What happens to this giddy anticipation? Why does all that excitement start to scare us to death?

    Maybe because the boy who we never get enough of never gets enough SportsCenter. Maybe because the guy who you hate to see leave, trips on the stairs instead of swaggering away. Maybe because the boy you can’t take your eyes off of doesn’t realize that the Caesar haircut died nearly as long ago as Caesar himself. Maybe because the boys we fall in love with fall just slightly short of the fairytale.

    So his list of qualities don’t match up with the check list you made when you were a Laurel. Who said fairytales are perfect?

    Jasmine and Aladdin had to deal with Jafar, and remember that Aladdin was a street rat — not every princess’ dream. Ariel risked it all and ditched her fins, her family and underwater musical concerts and after Beauty’s love transformed the Beast, he still looked like a beast.

    So nothin’s perfect, punkin. None of these animated ladies had these rough spots outlined on their “Future Husband” list either.

    I’ll keep my fingers crossed that someday your prince charming does show up, tights and all.

    But I don’t want to be Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, and I don’t care who they are — no men look good in tights.

    The dream is not achieved in the white dress on your bulletin board or the table settings ripped from Martha Stewart.

    The fear is not of marriage, but of letting go to that impossible dream. We want to be married (we’re at BYU, aren’t we), but are scared to let go of that dream enough to let it happen.

    Ideals are stupid and no one ever really knows what they want until they find it.

    So throw away those lists. He might not be like my dad, but I’d bet my bottom dollar that I ain’t nuttin’ like his momma.

    It’s about laughing when he trips and loving that it happened.

    It’s about making reality your very own fairytale.

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