I used to long for the kind of romance where a guy composes a love song about how infinitely wonderful you are and releases it publicly, like that Tal Bachman song. Or maybe I'd land a man who would at least sing that song to me. Well I found a singer who writes his own material but so far there's been no love song to me, about me, for me. Although friends will remember my vivid dream (nightmare?) that Jaime proposed to me in the middle of a gig and then jumped back up onstage and sang "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" to me. A song about a teenage hooker. Thank goodness in real life there was no Nugent before, during or after the proposal.
After much introspection I have come to the realization that it isn't about someone writing a song that shows the world how they feel about me. I don't need the news broadcast to the universe. I've found that it is personal (as I write this in a public blog, how ironic!). It's about being valued and appreciated, being told and shown that I am loved. And I get that, every day. I don't take it for granted, either. I reciprocate equally, so that Jaime knows that he is loved. There is no shortage of sweet words in our home. Even on days when neither of us are feeling particularly loving we still confirm it verbally to the other...and it makes almost everything all right. What it doesn't make right it at least makes tolerable. That, my friends, is what makes the world go 'round.
"Wang dang, what a sweet poontang / a shakin' my thang as a rang-a-dang-dang in the bell"