One Woman’s Ceiling is Another Woman’s Floor

or: You Can’t Always Get What You Want

I have always wanted to be Doted Upon. So far, it hasn’t happened. I can not tell you how many times I have requested, demanded, teased and implored Mr. GG to dote upon me. Or even, just worship the ground I walk on for a few minutes. The fact that I usually make these requests when I have just read some sappy love scene in a book, and he is in the midst of some TV documentary, technical journal, or otherwise occupied, kinda kills off my chances. If he even hears me, he just flat out refuses. In the early days, he at least enquired as to what “doting upon” involved, before he refused. I would make big googly eyes at him, gaze tenderly at him, and coach him on the sort of romantic phrases I thought he should utter. No go. Never gonna happen.

So it was with great envy in my heart that I discovered that one of my friends was getting what I had no hope of attaining. She has found the (almost) perfect man for her. Really. The only fly in the ointment is that sometimes she wakes up to find him gazing adoringly at her, just quietly doting upon her, marvelling at his great, good fortune in having her in his life. I could not contain myself. I had no sympathy. I think I screeched at her. I told her she had what others (me) could only dream of. I told her to take one for the Gipper, to take one for me. I told her to lie there and think of England during the doting process. That she owed it to women everywhere (me) to bask in all that adoration.

I think she was a little taken aback. But really. One of my fondest dreams was being dissed by a woman I call friend. It shook me. I was forced to tell Mr. GG that other people doted on their women. I tried the old “everybody does it, but you” ploy. It didn’t make any difference. That kind of stuff just doesn’t sway him. In fact, he laughs at me.

I have gone so far as to cajole, sulk, and threaten him with days of tuna casserole for dinner, and he still laughs at me. One time I got him to specify what conditions would have to exist for him to even consider doting upon me. Talk about unrealistic! When I told him hell would have to freeze over before any of that stuff occurred, I finally admitted to both of us that I would have to soldier on through life without doting.

Sometimes I try to tell myself that doting could get old. It could get cloying, or sticky or annoying. But then I get to another sappy love scene in some book, and it all washes over me again. At these times, I set the book in my lap, and stare at Mr. GG. When he finally notices, he says, “What? What’s the matter?”. I just gaze at him (sadly), sigh, and pick up my book and resume reading. And he laughs.

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