Oh, That Man Of Mine

Every woman I know can tell you, in detail, the type of man who drives her insane: some prefer the tall, dark and handsome man, a few like the bad boys, or the blue-collar guy. One friend longs to meet a "guy just like that guy from The King of Queens," while another pines for "an old-fashioned, hard-working Amish man." 

My type? I like 'em big and crazy. 

I have been on many a date with good-looking, secure, ambitious men, mechanically saying all of the right things and smiling, all the while thinking that I could be home watching "Jeopardy." But put me together with an eccentric man who has a worm farm and believes that aliens invented Cheetos, and, girl, I am enthralled. Really, I don't understand where this comes from. My beloved Dad was Ozzie Nelson, for goodness sakes. Somehow, my wires crossed and I ended up with a thing for the Ozzy Osbourne types. 

The main problem with a relationship with an odd person (What's that, you say? There could actually be a drawback to having a relationship with a loon? Who'd a thought?) is that I am forced to play the sane one.  Let me assure you, any relationship in which I am the "sane" one is doomed from the start.  

Take, for example, the relationship with a man to whom I was once married. We'll call him Aquarius Moonbeam. Well, ol'  Moonbeam and I were quite a happy couple until the day I just happened to notice that he was certifiable nuts. I think it was the day I came home from work to find him creating adoption papers for the pot plants he grew in the spare bedroom. 

"If we adopt the plants," he explained to me, with the conviction of a true believer, " then no one can take them away from us." That moment crystallized something very important to me: Being with an eccentric is one thing, but I vowed never again to get mixed up with anyone who is on the Most Wanted List from either the  FBI or Sheppard Pratt Hospital. 

Still, my attraction to the eccentric lingers. So the next time you see a grown man roller skating down the busy intersection, wearing an old beanie cap with a propeller on the top, please do your best to avoid hitting him. He just might be my new beau.