I like Ron very much, and I respect him for wanting to “do the right thing” by me and Peter.
We don’t have the spark, though, that he had with his most important priors.
It may be just too late for us: too many hurts and disappointments, but bottom line, it’s finally come out that Ron doesn’t find me attractive.
After explaining that his marriage to a blond-haired woman was just pay-back and his long-term affair with the overweight she-who-will-not-be-named was about money, we find that his real interest is in pretty, feminine, little-black-dress women.
He thinks that’s not my deal, and up to now, I’d say he was right. Maybe I haven’t had the courage to be that kind of person for fear of ridicule.
Ron’s blather about Jeanne, Melody and Susan, the three dark-haired petite women in his past, has thrown me for a loop up to now.
But I’m starting to develop a thicker skin. I realize that my head has been entirely in the wrong place about this.
Rather than thinking of my body as a faithful companion, I have ended up hating it. It’s not a correct or just way to think.
Ron’s regrettable superficiality is the problem, not my body.
Yesterday, my body endured a grueling session at Edgewater. The cuts in my hands were so numerous that I started bleeding last night when Ron and I were on the phone, and my back and legs were as stiff as a board.
This morning, though, my body has healed enough that I feel pretty good. I’m proud of my level of fitness.
Ron, though, focuses on the negatives. Even after months of conversations, he still doesn’t get it. His dodging of legitimate questions about what he finds attractive and feminine is irritating and insulting.
He said last night that he doesn’t want me to be a little black dress piece of eye candy that he can parade into the country club because that’s not him.
Thus, it appears that’s exactly what he does want, but until he gets back in shape himself, he’s chosen me because he thinks there won’t be competition for my attention. As evidently there was with Jeanne, Melody and Susan.
I’m just glad that this house has a second bedroom. The last thing in the world I want is to sleep with someone who prefers an Audrey Hepburn fantasy to a strong, brave, flesh and blood woman.