Sometimes I am Unfunny Too: An Ode to St Valentine.

Leen Ash Burn's Lair	Don't Say We Didn't Warn You

If ever, anyone has come forth to ask myself what the criteria that I look for in search of that elusive Mr. Right, I would very likely to say that I go for sense of humour and someone who worships the grounds that I walk on. I said it in jest, but over the years, I am beginning to want a Mr Right (or even, Mr. Not-So-Right-But-OK-lor) that worships the grounds that I waddle on.

Please, allow me to explain before you take make that ugly face to me (and you so know that if the wind changes your face will be stuck like that forever don’t you?)

I do not want a man with no backbone. I do not fancy a man who goes all blubbery and void of any mental capacity when I speak to him. I do want a man with personality. I do not wish for a Yes-ma’am man who is incapable of arranging his train of thoughts let alone verbalising his views however far removed from mine.

Though my views may be wrong
They may even be perverted
She’ll hear me out
And won’t easily be converted*

I know I can’t ask for much, because you see, I am no Goddess myself. I do not light a room with my presence – I think I’d block it because of my bulk, y’know? I do not have a lilting laugh that reminds you of a happy, sunny summertime. (Her hair reminds me of a warm, safe place, where, as a child I'd hide*...)I do not have the poise and sophistication of Audrey Hepburn nor the demure personality and sweet smile *gag* of Siti Nurhaliza. I do not possess the sharp wit and intelligence that will leave men ogling at awe around me, wanting, craving to converse with me. I do not have the beauty and grace of Jackie Onnasis, where men lust after and women envy over.

I can only offer my self-deprecating humour. And uh, I’d thrown in a mean pasta dish too. But that’s not very much is it? I have a thick skin – one that allows me to shame myself on periodic moments doing absolutely ridiculous stunts like singing in public and wearing sheets in shopping malls, but that’s not a lovable trait to have for a girlfriend, no?

I want a man to worship the grounds I dodder on because you see; I am tired being the Second Choice. In all my relationships, I am forever, a Second Choice. You know what Second Choices are don't you? That you’re wonderful, you’re adorable, OMG you cook mean pasta but that other girl is the one I want?

I mean you’re supposedly perfect, but still-not-good-enough?

(And if I ever have low self-esteem, it wouldn’t be because I’m fat, it’ll be this).

A past love, sung (badly) a song he composed to me on my birthday, whispered sweet nothings, wrote me love letters (it was the days of emails and Internet chats already). And just because we went into a stumbling block, namely, my religion, he went to see another woman. He regretted it, sure, but the damage has been done. He is now married to a woman he met at a train station. I think it is the same woman.

Another confessed that he had fallen for a girl, thinking that I would be kindly and sweetly accept him to my bosom and comfort him. What the…? That girl was seriously pursuing another, so she has gracefully rejected his proposals.

So what if she had said yes to you, I asked him.

He said he would choose me instead (then why bloody bother asking her at the first place?). He was quick to burst my bubbles. He said, earnestly, that she is pretty, hence, would have no problems finding a boyfriend. It is unspoken that was louder – that I am not pretty enough.

Fair enough. We broke up a year after that. Four years thereafter, he said he was still in love with me. Suffice to say, I have moved on, but not necessarily to better and greater things.

The next one married my best friend. When asked to choose, he said, in a bid to be diplomatic, that if he had chosen her, he would lose a great person. But if he had chosen me, he would lose the next best thing that happened to him.

I am a great person but not great enough to be the next best thing, let alone THE best thing, that happened to him.

The last one I found was two-timing me with his best friend (something wrong with my Karma methinks). So, feeling bold, I asked, what is it about her that I am not good enough for you?

I should just have shut my trap. Unflinchingly, he replied that she is not (and I remember this still) only “physically better looking, but she listens to me and she’s very caring”.

For many, many months, I was thinking, OK, I lost out to some 18 year old SYT who probably wears a size 2 and have 34C boobies. I found out later how she looked like. I told my mom that “dia nipis satu inchi je dari Leen, Ma”. A friend later commented that she looked like a 45-year old makcik.

Well no matter, the 29 year old dude is getting hitched to the 45-year old makcik already. Oh well.

So you see? Is it too much to ask? If I want a man who laughs at my joke and actually, actually listen to my drivel about daily life?

For once, I want to have someone who is proud to walk along side with me, whose love brims over that he needs to share with the world how awesome I am. (A stroke on the ego is never bad, I say).

For once, I do not wish to be hidden from the public, for one I want to be introduced to all his friends, and not the smattering few (two).

For once, I want him to know, rather my friends about my daily going-ons - about the time when I had to change a flat tyre at 6am, the time when I had to move the mattresses alone, the time where I had to stay at the office late at night for many days to complete a report, the time when my boss tiu-ed me.

So is it so bad that I ask for someone who thinks I’m a Goddess even if I am a mere eyesore of a hag?

Credit: Depeche Mode's "Somebody" and G 'n' R's "Sweet Child o Mine".