Every once in a while one meets a woman whose very ordinariness demands that she be elevated to the status of Godhead. Using words such as ordinary and unremarkable do her a disservice for she is witty, intelligent, feeling, mature, articulate, attractive and definitely sexy. Yet no one attribute stands out. Ergo ordinary, normal, but in the very best way.
Sure, there are better-looking women, ones with more challenging minds, even some with whom one has a deeper natural connection.
But with these deified girls everything just comes together in the right proportions. Perfectly imperfect - or is that imperfectly perfect?
What's more, the goddess seems unaware of her divine glory and ability to knock your average Joe dead in the water.
It's perhaps this last attribute that puts her beyond the reach of mortals.
The end result is that to harbour serious romantic aspirations around these women is tantamount to blasphemy. They are to be cherished and (if this doesn't sound a little too much like a stalker with serious psychological problems) their purity is to be preserved at all times (regardless of boyfriends, who have obviously attained that position by proving their worth).
(These girls are, of course, completely different from those one meets who are so unattainably gorgeous as to not even be fanciable - any effort to do so would just result in infatuation and heartache. With these few, the psyche seems to save time and anguish by automatically opting out of the competition.)
So it is with J.
I first met her several years ago when working in Manchester. Among certain of my colleagues at the time, she was quite the subject of idolatry. J was a radio reporter, me - one of the few people working on this new-fangled interwebsite thingy. Consequently we didn't have much reason for our paths to cross. Nevertheless we managed to strike up an enjoyable, relaxed, if politely restrained, relationship.
On my last day before heading south, she gave me a signed photo of Mikey Graham, the pudgy one from Boyzone who never really got over the band's break-up and had to cancel his solo tour due to lack of interest. Despite my predilection for pop I don't like Boyzone, never have, yet I've had that photo pinned to my corkboard for the last six years, an icon to keep my faith strong.
Our paths crossed occasionally over the next few years and in between times I'd see or hear her on some channel or other.
I'd not seen J in more than a year. But knocking off shift late last night, walking through the corridors of Television Centre, I found myself following a woman. Somehow I knew it was her. These instincts are usually way off the mark, resulting in awkward moments with shocked strangers. Yet this time I was right.
She seemed genuinely pleased to see me, if a little surprised, and as I'd not seen her since BC, I had to drop the brain bomb on her.
But as soon as I'd mentioned this, without any time for explanation, my driver turned up saying, "Ben Fell? Ben Fell? Which is it, you or her?".
For just a moment I felt like grabbing him by his lapels, pinning him against the wall and, with our faces just microns apart, yelling at the top of my not inconsiderable voice, "Ben Fell? Does this vision of loveliness look like Ben Fell? You're not even worthy to hold eye contact with her, let alone know her real name. Prostate yourself before her and beg forgiveness."
It passed as quickly as it came (which is just as well as a) it would have been more than a little embarrassing and b) the man in question turned out to be a very nice chap) and we parted with a promise to get in touch soon.
I still don't fancy allow myself to fancy her. I'm still in awe.
I know it's absurd, that she's just a human being with the same doubts and insecurities as anyone worth their salt, and that this whole post probably says many bad things about my attitude to relationships. In affairs of the heart, I'm a coward.
Am I wrong? Is every woman a goddess in her own way? Probably so. And there are many out there, just waiting to be worshipped in a less mentally retarded way.
But putting J and her like on this pedestal makes life easier, a way to stay sane.
Can anyone honestly say they've never done the same?
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3 comments:
It must be a guy thing. While it's always seemed to me that if I was interested in a guy, he would be clueless either because he wasn't interested or I was too subtle, so at some point I'd just be obvious. It didn't always work out, but the last time it worked very well. I'm still married to him.
I never thought about it being pure cowardice. Of course, I have no idea if I'm one of the women you describe, either. I could just be the pudgy, desperate kind ;). But it's ok. My husband seems to like that sort.
What are pedestals otherwise for?
Good grief. I know *lots* of women who are this undefineably great. Why else would the French have created a phrase for it?
To me it's more of an event when you find a man like that (although I guess I would say that).
It's the pheromones, love. has to be, or else all that stuff about being able to blag confidence is A Lie.
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