The Man of My Dreams

I love being married.  It’s not flowers and love notes all the time, but I find specialness in the everyday-ness of my life with Ian.  The soft crunch of barbeque potato chips being tossed next to the rice milk in the grocery cart; Mike & Mike in the morning and the Real Housewives at night; sharing a bed and toothpaste and movie popcorn with each other...  Newly alone in my Indiana apartment while I wait to join Ian in Chicago, I miss him and all the beautiful comforts of our marriage.  I’m in love.

But, occasionally I miss the feeling of falling in love.  

My step-brother-inlaw (work through that relationship web for a second) is fast falling in love with his new girlfriend.  When we met for dinner last week, he showed us her picture on his phone, smiled coyly whenever we asked about her, and blushed pink when I asked if we should expect to receive a “Save The Date” card in the next few months.  In the most pleasant of snowball effects, his happiness made us happy that night, and I’m even writing about it here.

Revelling in his feelings of young love, I couldn’t help but privately reminisce about that special time in my relationship with Ian.  I remember - with vivid delight - falling in love with him.  My heart would jump with excitement every time the dull ringtone gave way to his deep voice on the phone.  Happy butterflies filled my stomach every time I got to see him, and the feeling was so addictive that I sometimes went out of my way to make sure I’d run into him on campus after our classes.  When he first held my hand, my whole body smiled; and our first kiss made my soul light up.  Indeed, falling in love is a feeling of unparalleled specialness.

Our fun-filled infatuation eventually blossomed into the less-celebrated but infinitely more meaningful capital L Love.  So now when I miss the stomach butterflies, I only have one place left to get them: my dreams.  And I had a really nice bout of nocturnal infidelity a week ago.

One morning last weekend in Chicago with Ian, I was having the most wonderful dream ever: I was falling in love with William Mason, the oh-so-nice and cherubically handsome footman on Downton Abbey.

In my dream, William joined me in the modern day.  Unplagued by World War I and the melodrama of his former employer, he was free to fall in love with me. And I fell in love right back.  My subconscious brain filled with thoughts and feelings of young love as my handsome beau hugged me and held my hand, making my heart jump in excitement and filling up my stomach with happy butterflies.

Then I woke up.  

In my morning stupor, I couldn’t help but feel sad - about the lost dream, the lost love.  So I called out to Ian watching Mike & Mike in the living room: “Baaaaaaaabbbbbbbyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!”

“Yeah?”

“C’youcomehere?”

“Okay, hang on.”

Ian walked in and climbed in bed with me, nudging my poutey cheeks with his fingers.

“What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

“No, I had a great dream,” I said sadly,  “I was falling in love with William from Downton Abbey, and we really loved each other and were holding hands and everything, and then I woke up and it’s not real.  Hmph.”  I pouted again.

“Aw, it’s okay Annie. I know William’s really nice. But you still have me.”
“Yeah, I do.” I smiled.

And that’s the thing.  I may miss the feelings of falling in love when I wake up from my Downton Abbey fantasies.  But, to paraphrase a line from 500 Days of Summer, Ian’s better than the man of my dreams; he’s real.