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"I&amp;#039;m happy to report that I&amp;#039;m back to focusing on what Rex is great at (consistency and listening) as opposed to what he is not so great at (spontaneous trips to the Caribbean and talking my ear off over a cappuccino at Nordstroms, all the while telling me how fabulous I look in my Lucky size 4 jeans.) For all you men out there reading who think my last statement is ridiculous (especially the size 4 part) I couldn&amp;#039;t agree more. We women are crazy. Wired into our genetic make-up, and into our groins, is the image of a man who will protect us, give us children and provide shelter for us. Our great protector can take on many forms, from a five six accountant to a six foot three five o&amp;#039;clock shadowed computer geek with size 13 feet. (Love you, Rex.) However. And this is the big however, once we land our hero, we suddenly want him to morph into our best girlfriend also. &amp;quot;Why can&amp;#039;t you ask me how church went?&amp;quot; I used to ask Rex, &amp;quot;I just did,&amp;quot; he&amp;#039;d sigh, looking up from his automotive magazine. &amp;quot;No, you asked me &amp;#039;What&amp;#039;s going on?&amp;#039;&amp;quot; I would clarify. &amp;quot;That&amp;#039;s different than specifically asking me if I had a good morning with the kids. Aren&amp;#039;t you interested in how I handled that difficult parent at Sunday School? Or if I ever found Pipsqueak&amp;#039;s missing hair piece in the back of the car?&amp;quot; Silence. The truth is, he didn&amp;#039;t really care. What he cared about, at that moment, was reading about engines and mufflers. I refer to them simply as &amp;quot;turboraters&amp;quot;. And there is where I finally caught myself in my own trap. After all, do I really care in my heart about Rex&amp;#039;s obsession with the latest technology, his Power Point presentation, or if he ever found that doo hickey wire ma jiggy for his thingy ma bob at Fry&amp;#039;s? I&amp;#039;ve learned that it&amp;#039;s not that we don&amp;#039;t care for each other, but we show it differently. I need constant feedback. Opposite my personality, the biggest validation I could give Rex&amp;#039;s stressful day is to not ask about it all but let him bring it up after he&amp;#039;s had time to settle in for the night. Back to my first point, is there really a guy out there who can understand all the inner workings of my rambling soul? A champion of men who is interested in my diet, my hair, and the saga of the shoe sale? Yes! He&amp;#039;s called my ex-boyfriend! My GAY ex-boyfriend Bruce \u2013 making him, truly, a champion of men! Rex has never been so thrilled to have another man in my life, even I did once have an intricate relationship with Bruce&amp;#039;s penis. If hanging out with Bruce means I&amp;#039;m happier and will once again have a more intimate relationship with Rex&amp;#039;s penis, then everything is looking up \u2013 all puns intended. What about you? Do you have a Will for your inner Grace? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a2786/where-theres-a-will-theres-a-g/>