I think something happens to a woman when she isn’t romanced enough.
We become bitter, and really critical of romantic things. We groan about Valentine’s Day, and complain about how we don’t have boyfriends.
Then we talk about our friends that do have boyfriends. We pick at them for spending too much time with them, or talk about how much they show too much displays of affection around people.
We scoff at romance movies like 27 Dresses. We get a little nauseated by happy endings. We roll our eyes at hopeless romantic teenagers.
But when in fact, its out of pure jealously we do this. I know I’m guilty of it.
I had become calloused.
I joked a little about being a “Bachelorette until the Rapture”. But I know that’s a lie I tell myself to try and deal with this feeling.
We are just upset that we have been waiting so long for our own happy ending. We just want to feel the newness of being pursued. Because a lot of us haven’t felt that in a long time… a really long time.
We miss the butterflies when you hold our hands, and late night phone calls…
I went to a wedding a while ago …and was reminded of how much of a hopeless romantic I am… no matter the lies I tell myself.
I saw the look of pure joy and love on my friend’s face when he saw his bride glide across the grass. Then something stirred in my heart again … I wanted someone to look at me like that.
Later that night we made our way to the reception, where there was dancing.
I, again, forgotten how much I love dancing. Though I really can’t dance at all, I love it.
But then there are bad memories of high school dances, standing in a line of girls against a wall. Waiting and praying for him to pick me. But there was always a crushing reality, that he never seemed to pick me.
But not this time.
There is something that blooms deep within a girl’s heart when a guy asks her to dance. We feel beautiful as he spins us across the floor. No matter how goofy of a dancer she is, or how bad he is, she feels like she is on top of the world.
As he twirled me, I felt the hopeless romantic knock on my door and introduce herself back into my life.
So here lately, I listen a little more to Sinatra, Buble and good ol’ Dean. Rather than being bitter and wishing someone would sing these romantic songs to me, I simply enjoy the future hope that maybe, one day, I might get to dance with you.
I close my eyes and a smile comes across my face thinking of you, as I hear Sinatra belt out,
“And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart …Keep that breathless charm. Wont you please arrange it? Because I love you, just the way you look tonight.”
