A reader gets real:
I'm a guy. Which means that, almost by definition in my nearly 50 years of life, I'm a pig. I want that super sexy, skinny, perfect-skin young beauty (preferably about the age of 16 – which is perfectly legal where I live, just so you know). What I have is anything but; she's fat; she has acne; she has PCOS, which means among other things a horrid smell if she isn't exceptionally regular about bathing, her hair is thin near to the point of balding and, of course, we can never have children.
But what a grown man, as opposed to a child, realizes is that what he wants is not necessarily what he needs.
I love my wife. She is my best friend. I cannot imagine life without her after ten years – this April! When I arrive at those dark nights of the soul, I know that she is there with me. Totally, unequivocally. When I cry, she is there. When I triumph, she is there. And I wouldn't want anyone else.
Yes, I still want to bang the 16-year-old nymph. But I don't want to wake up with the twit. Much less discuss with her philosophy, religion, or how best to train our dogs. I want my wife. Just as she is. Because if she was any different, she wouldn't be the same person. I wouldn't change a thing. I'm lucky to have HER, not the other way around.
Previous thoughts here.
The Dish 