I have a confession to make.
I have been sucked into a sitcom; a soap opera of epic proportions.
My favorite blog, as of the moment, is MBP. I say ‘at the moment’ because I do recognize within myself the propensity for fickleness. Tomorrow I may find it only mildly entertaining due to overabundance of chick-hosting-parasite hormones, or in other words, I’m a flaky prego… However amusing or possible, this loss of interest is not likely. A new post is up every few days and the hater comments are just as gratifying to my need for humor as the bachelors’ gut-busting, down-to-earth, walk-right-up-to-the-line-and-put-your-toe-over-it honesty.
Calvin & Jake chronicle for the vast expanse of cyberspace, and therefore, me, the adventures of their dating and/or love life. Or lack thereof. The slightly embarrassing thing about it for me is that from time to time, maybe more than I’d like to admit, I relate to some of their escapades, if only in the emotion and mental processes and not the actual experiences themselves.
The are human. Mormon. Young. I’m going to assume slightly above average in looks. I like to picture them that way. Not too gorgeous so as to be obnoxious, yet not so plain as to be forgettable, which I’m sure is also helped along by adorably imperfect personalities. The kind you like to read blogs about, pretend are your good friends, and would kill several times over if you married.
Oh, wait, that happens anyways…
Calvin & Jake remind me that I’m not as old as I feel.
They also make me look ahead to when my little boy will be their age… Yikes!! And I feel old again. Which makes me think that I have a couple of issues of my own to work out…
And when my little girls will be their age. I shall hide them in a closet and not let them know boys exist. Or let boys know they exist.
Because I was there once, or twice…
And I know boys do exist. They do, indeed. Very much so! Boys like the Mormon Bachelors who have hearts and– well– how shall I say it, humanity. And fun. They have fun. And the silly girls they date have fun too. And I, who am no longer in the dangerous and highly adventuresome world of being mostly single, get to live vicariously through their witty portrayal of life without the hazards of emotional distress, possible heartbreak, or the fine art or science of inflicting said distress and heartbreak onto another when the need arises.
They take the day in and day out ordinarity ( I just coined a word! teehee!), and transform it into light, engaging, and intriguing-to-the -point-of-addicting literature. If I may be so brazen as to call periodic postings on an internet portal literature. Yes, I will.
They endear to the rest of us the imperfections of humanity and remind me that the things that are different about all of us are also the things that make us the same. The likes and dislikes of one person may clash with those of another, but it in no way makes that person better of worse than the next. I may be rated a 7 to one guy or a dozen. To the next dozen or so, I am probably a 4. And there is the chance that 1 or 2 may see a 10. Or a 2.
The point is, while few of us want to admit it, even to ourselves, we all have a facet of shallow within us. We all have a rating system. We all have a feature that in others we may find acceptable or repulsive. We despise the shallowness in others because we want to pretend we aren’t cut from the same mold. We are threatened by admitting to ourselves that we are effected by more then just personality and that we aren’t as saintly as we would like ourselves to believe.
The truth of the matter is that being with an ugly person does not prove you are good. God made beauty. He made us in His image. He made us to appreciate the beauty that He created in the world around us. Part of that beauty is in the people around us. Some of that beauty is outward. Some is inward. And we are all different enough to enjoy and aspire to the different beauties in the various people in our lives. On a variety of levels.
And I think I will by a Team MBP t-shirt. Because I am not too uppity to admit that a part of me is shallow enough to hope that if I were to run into the Mormon boys on the street, that they would rate me no lower than a 6.
And I don’t think I’ve ever met an ugly Mormon boy.