Now I have never been a fan of the word 'nice'. It's just so bland, isn't it? Call me a little high maintenance if you will, but if anyone has ever said (after hours of preening and getting myself into a semi-glamorous state) that I look nice, well, I am likely to get myself into a little bit of a huff. Nice? Nice?? Surely what you mean is 'drop dead gorgeous' or 'beyond beautiful' or 'bloody hell, you look so amazing my eyes hurt'. The way I interpret the word nice is 'alright I s'pose' or 'passable' and I make a conscious effort to avoid using a word which I consider to mean 'distinctly average' or just 'OK'.
But the trouble is, Green Eyed Man is distinctly nice almost verging on slightly-too-good-to-be-true.
And the fact that he is constantly being so nice to me is making me question not only his level of intelligence, but also his sanity in general.
He calls or texts me at least once a day. He is constantly planning our 'dates' ahead of time, so I never have to wonder when I will see him again and whether or not I should make plans for Saturday night 'just in case he's free'. He has the most cheerful outlook on life and is intent on seeking the silver lining for every cloud. His glass is never just half full, it is just full.
Sickening, isn't it?
Add this to the fact that he is 6ft 1", probably one of the most handsome men I have ever laid my eyes on and has the body of a 22 year old professional rugby player and maybe you can understand why I am a little disconcerted.
But I think the most crucial piece of evidence that substantiates my inner fear that he is not quite the sharpest knife in the drawer is that he seems totally infatuated with me. Nice is just not a word that enters his vocabulary when we are together - although stunning, incredible, beautiful and hilarious often are. For Pete's sake...what chance do I have when I am up against that arsenal?
PLUS...he loves to cook for me, can dance circles around me (quite literally, which is a complete first because every other man in my life has always danced like a complete plum) and is totally into every single British thing I can throw at him (and I am not just referring to my frequently discarded pairs of M&S knickers).
It's all a bit much to be honest.
And despite the fact that I had thoroughly convinced myself that all I wanted was to meet a lovely, genuine guy and be done with workaholic, emotionally inept, egomaniacs - it is highlighting the fact that, in comparison to him, I am a predominantly shallow human being. I might have forced myself to believe that I am now an elevated, spiritual goddess seeking only the goodness in people's hearts, but it turns out that no - I am as superficial as Katie Price's boobs, only not quite as buoyant.
Bugger.
I thought I was beyond being attracted to a guy by the size of his...intellect and ambition. I thought I was beyond judging people (okay - men) by the size of their pay cheque. And I definitely thought I was beyond caring about how people I go out with dress. Turns out...not so much. Inherently part of me finds him lacking because he diligently works two jobs to put his sons through college. And that since his divorce he lives in a crappy little flat in the back-end of beyond, filled with pieces of cast-off furniture that have seen much better days. And that the contents of his wardrobe date back to the early 90s and there isn't a single piece from Banana Republic in it. Oh, and that he has only left the country twice - once on his honeymoon 19 years ago and once for a short trip to Canada, which, in my snobbish and superior assessment, hardly even qualifies.
In short, he is a hard working, incredibly genuine, down to earth bloke who manages his responsibilities in life with grace and is comfortable in his own skin. And I am a woman who, despite being miserable in dysfunctional relationships with men who were highly successful and so sharp they were in danger of cutting themselves, still can't see the wood for the trees.
Not to worry, says a well-intentioned friend, it's not like you have to even consider these things. It doesn't have a future - you're planning on moving back to the UK next year. You're in a position to just ignore all the stuff which indicates, deep down, you're a bit of a bitch and focus on his gold medal abilities in the rug olympics, aren't you?
Well, she has a point. He's quite the perfect 10 in the rug department. And it's not as if I am looking for my soul mate at this point in time anyway. Hopefully, by the time that I am, these shallow thoughts will no longer permeate my brain and influence my thinking. In the meantime, I can use them to keep him at an (emotional) arm's length because, if truth be told, I think this man is way too good for someone who finds it impossible not to judge on such a superficial basis. Someone like me, for example.
