So this is my analogy. Love is a pegboard, stretching Alice-in-Wonderland style to near infinity. You are a peg, individually carved. Your shape is determined by who you are, your entirety. The sexual attractiveness of your body, your rage, your humor, your ambition, your selfishness, your wit, your virtue. The more ill-proportioned these things, the rougher and more unique your shape.
And now Little Peg, you begin to hop. You are looking for the hole that fits you best. Because each hole is individually hand drilled, with uneven edges and varying depths. That hole, the one that fits you most comfortably, will be your partner. You husband, wife, your love. Hop, little peg. It’s a big board.
But what if you are a smooth, refined peg? What if you are pleasant, attractive, smart, and appealing to many different types of people? Oh no! Then just about every hole you encounter is a potential fit! You will have to stop and try so many. Wiggle around inside, see if any raw edges touch. Or worse, hang around knocking around in that hole long enough to find out if either of your edges are loose, ready to pop off and reveal that actually, you’re a terrible fit.
And here is my genuine luck. I married the first man I kissed. Not from desperation or naivete. But because I am a very, very, weirdly shaped peg. It’s true, I’m actually a little proud of it. I’m as entitled and demanding as a cat, a fluffy one at that. I’m too smart, but not in any useful way. I accidentally farted like a foghorn on our first date. I’m funny and empathetic, but awkward and nosy. And it is all right out front. I can’t conceal things.
So I looked over that peg board. And without even having to make a single move, I narrowed down the possibilities by 90%. I wouldn’t fit in those, and in most cases didn’t want to. I peeked in a few potential fits, but quickly saw better than to climb in.
And then there he was. The Gus-hole, way to the edge of the board, where other pegs may not go. Deep and firmly carved, but with the complexity of a surgical laser, holding grooves and knots that you could look at all day and not see.
A perfect match. The game is won.
I honestly don’t understand how conventionally attractive people EVER find soul mates. Their odds of landing in the right hole seem astronomical.
I love my Gus-hole. So, so much.