Sometimes I think I might be a little bit insane. Like most men and women, I fantasize – that much is normal. I fantasize about sex, of course, but I also have bizarre fantasies about men that I often think might qualify me for residency at Shutter Island.
They usually go like this. I think about my most recent love interest (right now it’s Fred, but before him it was Jorge, and before him it was another guy). I envision our future together – but I don’t plan our beachside wedding, pick out baby names or ponder buying our first house together, the way most girls do.
What is this wild fantasy, then?
Scene: Produce section in Trader Joe’s.
Me: (Examines fruit) Fuji apples are the best.
Fred: Fujis, eh?
Me: Yes, they’re perfect – sweet, tart, crisp… the crispness is the key to a good apple. Soft apples suck.
Fred: I’m a Red Delicious man, myself. Can’t go wrong with the classics.
Me: Oh, come on!
Fred: Gimme kiss.
Or sometimes, it goes like this…
Scene: DVD section at Best Buy.
Me: (Picks up copy of Big Momma’s House) When are audiences going to tire of comedians dressing up like overweight women?
Fred: Are you kidding me? That movie was the bomb!
Me: Please. Can you get any more trite?
Fred: Have you seen it?
Fred: Then you have to watch it. We’re getting it.
Me: Fine, but then you’re going with me to Sex & the City II.
Fred: Okay, baby.
Me: Gimme kiss.
That’s it. Mundane, routine, everyday kind of shit. It’s like the “Seinfeld” of fantasies – a fantasy about nothing.
Crazy, right? I mean, if I’m going to dream, shouldn’t I at least dream BIG?
I guess what I’m fantasizing about is just having a happy, healthy relationship in which my man and I live our lives together. I suppose for me, that is big. Because it’s what I really want.
What makes it a fantasy – that is, not reality – is that in it, Fred (or whoever) is not a douche, he’s a good guy. He’s still Fred – same confidence, same sense of humor, all the things I like, only minus the douchiness. He’s someone I can love, who loves me back.
In short, I picture him as the man I want him to be.
In the past, these pipedreams were dangerous, because I’d fool myself into believing them. But now I know I’m dealing with fairy tales. I know that in reality, I’d be hurling Red Delicious apples at Fred’s head.
Oddly enough, I can now have these fantasies without attaching hopes and expectations to them. Some people dream of winning the lottery. This is my lottery.
Why do I waste my time on such fiction, you ask? I don’t mean to. I don’t light candles and lie in bed and intentionally concoct these scenarios. They creep into my mind without my permission, while I’m at Trader Joe’s, or Best Buy or wherever. And by the time I’ve even realized I’m doing it, Fred and I are in the checkout line buying Big Momma’s House on Blu-ray.
My mind has, well, a mind of its own. Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic. Or maybe I’m nucking futs. Or maybe both. So prepare another bed, Shutter Island. Leonardo will be there, right?
Categories: Something is Wrong with Me