Even A Lifetime Loser Can Find True Love

For the vast majority of my life, I have been a bachelor. I spent my life looking at every single attractive woman who walked by and thinking, “Damn. I want me one of those. How do I get that fine woman into my life? And more importantly, into my bed.” Even when I was in a relationship it didn’t stop me for a second from checking out and lusting after every woman I’d see. Sure, I was caught up in that machismo trap of having to prove conquest over bevies of beautiful women to then display as trophies to prove my manhood to the other males in my life. The point is, though, no matter whom I was with I was never satisfied and always looking for something better.

What’s more, I was the type of guy who assumed he’d never find a woman who had any interest in marrying him.

To put it mildly, I was a loser.

I lived in a little one-room hovel with a dirty mattress on the floor and piles of all the things I’d hoarded and collected, books and records and DVDs and comic books, taking up the remainder of the available space. I’d had a couple of good jobs here and there, for a year or two at a time, but had never had a credit card or a savings account. I had absolutely nothing to offer a potential mate other than my charm and personality, and more than one woman I’ve known could tell that those two things and $4.99 could get you a venti latte at Starbucks.

I figured that I would always be that guy who women had fun with for a couple of weeks or a month, and then moved on to someone they could spend a life with.

That is, until I met my wife.
Well, met again, actually.

We’d known each other as children. But now, for the first time in my life, I actually feel that I’ve already found the best woman I could ever possibly discover. My wife is the shit. She’s intelligent and loving and forgiving of my character flaws and gorgeous and hilarious and sexy as all hell. She’s my partner and my lover and my best friend. I am as hot for her today, if not hotter, as the first time we made love. I am a fucking lucky man who doesn’t deserve a life as good as this and I sure as hell would be the world’s biggest fool if I ever did anything to screw it up. We’re different in some interesting ways but fit together perfectly in all the ways that count.

Now, I know some of you gag on the romantic shit and despair of ever finding love. Hey, I get it. Nobody was more cynical or less sentimental than me. But remember this.

It took me 50 fucking years to find real love.

The success of a loser like me should give you true hope. I do not care how old you are. If you keep trudging ahead and don’t give up completely, there is love to be found. Real, fierce, passionate, gut wrenching love. The kind that you’d throw away anything for. The kind that makes all the rest of the garbage we have to put up with in this sick society, in this most imperfect of worlds, seem totally meaningless.

I know because I’ve found it and you can too.