Pitbulls and Daisies

Here I am, about to back track on all of my words from my whole life, so sit down, strap on your seat belt, and prepare yourself for a trip through the looking glass at a new alternative look at me. I have been considered an independent woman all my life, wanting to never weaken in any one's sight, I have touted advice off to many of my friends, especially when their hearts are broken or complaining about their men, reminding them that men don't make us weak, they make women strong. My previous relationships have been somewhat successful, especially dating men that are in someways weaker, allowing me to wear the pants. Things have turned upside down, and I have met a man whom is more than willing to wear the pants. In turn, I went from pitbull to daisy in a matter of two weeks.

I find it incredible that, regardless of all of my fight against Walt Disney and his ingrained cult of Princesses and Princes, that I still can melt into a girlish state when my new guy is around. Regardless of my mood, he lifts me up just touching me. I rarely enjoy a man that is touchy-feely, probably because it felt like a weird ownership thing, like a cat rubbing its face on all your stuff, or a dog peeing on every tree, leaving its mark. In this case, I actually enjoy it, and have no problems with it.

I have always said I have wanted a guy with a sense of humour, loves sports, can wear a ball cap and a suit at the same time, is stronger than me and can lead. Seems like that isn't too hard, but at my age, perhaps the fishing pond is a bit limited. Sure I can bend my rules, but those are all pretty much deal breakers. I want a guy's-guy, not a soft guy, not a girly-guy, not a girlfriend. A guy that can stand up to idiot men bugging me, a guy who gets along with my friends, a guy who is family-oriented, and one that likes to eat.

My pitbull has turned me into a daisy. As long as I keep feeding him and he keeps watering me, we'll be great.
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