The boys I mean are not refined
They go with girls who buck and bite…
They speak whatever’s on their mind
They do whatever’s in their pants
The boys I mean are not refined
They shake the mountain when they dance…
-e.e. cummings
A girl might grow roots and develop mold while waiting for Mr. Right to come along, but wouldn’t it be more exciting to go gallivanting on the wild side with Mr. Wrong? Myself, I’ve thought about this during the dull moments of my life. These events mostly occur while sipping coffee alone at McDonald’s or waiting for my Chinese takeouts. Boredom usually does this to you. That, or watching giggling couples (yes, even the guy giggles!) hold hands and walk to the sunset in a perfectly synchronized ensemble of safe earth colors, being disgustingly matched and well-groomed. Yup, they look good together.
They also look boring.
Whatever happened to the “opposites attract?” North and South? Light and dark? The Yin and the Yang? Whatever happened to the balance? Whatever happened to the mystery? I’d see a hot guy with a mousy girl and I’d definitely ask, “Whatever does he see in her?” “Is it her intelligence?” “Does she resemble Venus, or at least Alessandra Ambrosio, when she’s naked? What?” And a whole lot of different questions would follow to boggle the mind. They might look odd but they would be more interesting. But when I see two beautiful people together, I’ll just nod wisely and say, “It makes sense”. That’s it. End of story.
And of course, back to the real subject at hand: The pursuit of Mr. Right.
Who exactly is Mr. Right, I ask. And how do I know he’s “right”?
What if Mr. Right is all wrong?
What does being Mr. Right mean? What makes him right?
Is he right because he already has a house, a car and a steady well-paying job?
Is he right because he’s loyal and kind? A lot of people can be loyal and kind. Hell, my dog is loyal and kind and does not talk back.
Or is it because my Mama likes him a lot and she could already picture me tending his garden when she comes around for a customary Sunday get-together in an angst-free pastel-colored suburban environment?
Kill me now. Please. Besides, I couldn’t even make a single mongo seed live, much less grow a garden.
On the other hand, there’s Mr. Wrong.
Ah, Mr. Wrong, the kind of guy my Mama warned and threatened me about…the villain with an attitude and wrong for all sorts of reason, but whose appeal lies in his very delightful wrongness. Who could resist him? He is the Pirate. The Rake. The Dashing Adventurer. The Gentleman Highwayman. The Rebel without a Cause.
The proverbial bad boy. Or so those romance novels led us to believe.
By bad boy, I don’t mean that he should be an ex-convict with counts of murder tucked under his belt or some tough guy carrying around an Ax which would do any Viking proud while riding around on his Harley, looking scary.
To me, a bad boy is someone who makes me laugh with his wicked sense of humor; He has a wonderful belly-laugh that is not repressed and he never giggles; He would be exciting in his spontaneity and he would do whatever he wants and people’s opinions be damned. He would be very creative with flair of genius hiding behind his insecurities, cynicism and stubbornness. He would view the concept of love with disdain and dismiss it as a frivolous emotion.
Until I enter his life.
Snaring a bad boy isn’t easy. It’s often an exercise in futility or something similar. They are sly and elusive. They are challenging. No girl refuses a challenge. Why do you think girls revel on bargains? It’s the challenge of finding the perfect shoe which looks absolutely gorgeous, cheap and doesn’t grind your toes to pieces while you walk. It’s not unlike catching a bad boy. Now, compare that on the prospect of taming something—or someone -– wild.
Think the Little Prince and the Fox.
The Little Prince and his rose.
Think of how it is to be the one to tame the wild one. The unique and the only one in the entire world, whose footsteps he would recognize anywhere and fill him with anticipation. His rose, the one he’s responsible for and protects from the harsh elements and worries over.
So beautiful. It is such a wonderful delusion.
But then I have to wake up and smell the motorcycle fumes. Bad boys are the dashing ones who ride with the wind and trample hearts all over God’s creation, and some of them could be so mean as to back up and make sure your heart is nothing but dusts on his great highway of life.
Bad boys. *sigh*.
My dream and my nightmare.
My euphoria and my downfall.
My delightful jean-clad paradox.
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