Love, of the lasting kind anyway, eluded me during most of my twenties, and by the time I was facing the more (shall we say) well-travelled age of thirty, I had re-concieved my idea of Mr Right, and it sat along notions of Mr Left, Mr B, Mr W and Mr X.
Mr Right was also known as Mr Perfect, The One or Soulmate. I thought of him as the man who met all known criteria. He would thrill you sexually, fulfill you emotionally, complement you spiritually, challenge you intellectually, augment you socio-economically, and enhance you genetically (for procreation, if you were a woman). He would not leave you wanting. Clearly, this person as defined in the strictest sense, in all probability, did not exist, though non-existance could often be confused with elusiveness.
Mr Left was the man who fulfilled or appeared to fulfill all the criteria of Mr Right, but whith whom you just could not get your act together, perhaps because of geography, timing or availability. He tended to be someone with whom you spent long periods of time, with little to show for your efforts and as a result, was someone your friends frequently ended up disliking.
Mr B was someone who was clearly not Mr Right, but was sufficiently well-endowed in at least one of the following for you to engage in a brief tryst or a lingering affair: body/brawn, brain, bank balance, babe factor, bonk rating, basic human goodness. I also thought of him as Mr Right Now even though his appearance might be recurring.
Mr W could be referred to variously as Mr Wrong, Mr What Were You Thinking, Mr What A Total Waste Of Time, Wanker or other names of a similarly derogatory nature. He would often be mistaken for Mr Right, Mr Left or Mr B during the early stages of your encounter, usually as a result of your having inebriated, in some kind of chemically induced stupor, hypnotized, desperately lonely, or in any other state guaranteed to impair your judgement. A liason with Mr W was likely to be characterized by one of more of the following: deception, infidelity, or other betrayal, theft, abuse, or other criminal victimization, complete derision or frustration on the part of your friends. And the aftermath was likely to feature some combination of embarrassment, shame, guilt, denial, self-induced amnesia, therapy, medical help, legal advice, or at the very least utter lack of sympathy on the part of your friends.
Finally there was Mr X. He was the man who would turn out to be your most significant other by the time you reached the end of your humble life. Mr X might not lend himself to any easy identification. He might be unexpected and logic-defying, in the same way that life is unpredictable, and therefore, beautiful. He might one have been a Mr Left, or a Mr B, or none of the above. But it mattered not, because by the time he became Mr X, he would have transcended the banality of labels.
/To Know Where I'm Coming From, Johann S. Lee
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Definitely gna read this book during the Summer holidays.
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