Saying when

I’ve always strived to be a good person. I’ve obviously failed grandly so, so many times. Sometimes I feel like I’ve failed even more than the status quo. Nevertheless, I do my best to be the best kind of person I can be.

That sounded a bit pretentious, didn’t it?

But, don’t we all do it? Don’t we all aim to be the best possible version of ourselves? Hey, maybe that drug lord is a notorious criminal, but he sure as hell is trying to be the best in the world he lives in. Or that mousy, frail little barista: she also knows the struggle of finding out who you are, and then working like hell to be the best at that. It’s the timeless human plight, am I right?

But I digress.

This is not the time for human and social analyses.

This is the time to talk about boys.

It really should never be the time to talk about boys. Unless you’re in the male model business, or an active member of the Boy Scouts, or some sort of sports talent recruiter-person. Or maybe you’re Simon Cowell looking for the a new set of five boys to assemble into the next big show-business phenomenon. (I don’t think Simon Cowell will read this publication. However, I am an annoyingly cautious woman, and I like to be prepared, so I must state for the record that Simon Cowell was, is, and forever will be by far my favorite American Idol judge.)

Boys are inevitable. Since preschool, we are either chasing or running away from them. This statement is forever true and 100% accurate for all stages in life, (Tinder, anyone?) So, suffice it to say that boys have always been a tough subject for me.

Having spent 26 years surrounded and perplexed and hurt and grossed-out and chased and wooed and catcalled and damaged and used and completed by boys, I am finally in a serious, adult, committed relationship with one!

We met over a year ago at a party where I was drunker than a bartender’s rag, but a charming, gussied-up rag. We started talking about everything and nothing. (This sounds romantic, but really I’m just trying to play down the fact that I cannot remember because I met him whilst pouring myself my twelfth Bacardi and TopoChico. I know the drink should be a Cuba Libre, but y’all need to skimp on the Coke, and just add mineral water and a hell lotta ice. Trust me, folks. This is one of my few areas of expertise.) Our first conversation started on April 17, 2014, and it really hasn’t ended.

After A LOT of hesitation, I am finally comfortable with the thought that this man will most probably be the man I marry. I’m not sure if this is a good or bad thing. What I am sure of is that this initial thought can take you on some pretty treacherous ground.

Giving up your whole heart and betting a fundamental part of your future on one person is one of the riskiest things a person can do. Love is an act of courage, and yet so many people do it day after day without looking back.

I took this step a considerable while ago, and I am still trying to feel comfortable. It’s not that I am unsure of how I feel about this man; I love him in the mushiest, grossest, purest way I’ve ever done. That is what makes everything so terrifying: that he has become a sort of time landmark �" there is a before-and-after in my life in relation to having met him.

Is that wrong? Is that too much? Is there such a thing as excess love? Where should you stop? Is there a limit? When should you say when?