Doesn't everybody love Lisa Loeb?

My name is Peter and I’m a giant sap.

No, it’s true.

And, I suspect, I always have been.

I was reminded of this yesterday, when I shared a link to a Terra Naomi song with a female friend and she called me “a girl.”

My first reaction was…

“What– Why you little — No good rotten –“

Then I realized that she is a little right. While I don’t think a nice, mellowly awesome song is girly just because a female is singing it, I do have a history of liking girly music.

No grown man should enjoy Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” nearly as much as I do. (I blame the cute girl glasses she wears, but that’s neither here nor there. )

Even as a teen, I always had a mixed tape of sappy music in my car. I told my friends that it was used to “get ladies in the mood.” And while it was likely utilized to attempt to do just that, I also really enjoyed the mellow music. If you won’t let yourself sing along to Chicago’s “You’re The Inspiration,” then you are a robot, my friend.

I found one of these tapes recently. I think I had called it, “Mellow, mushy, make-out music, motherfucker.” Apparently I liked alliteration as much as mellow music. I so wish that I had kept a track list.

It wouldn’t be a big deal — and this would be a shorter post — if my sappiness was only evident in my musical tastes. But, alas…

I am something of a romantic.

I was chatting with the same female friend recently and we were discussing marriage. (Not to each other, just in general.) She asked my opinion, and I shared a laundry list of “What I’d need…” in a relationship before I’d get married. I had given the list some thought, and if you read it, you’d fully understand why I’m not married.

She didn’t feel like my list was at all realistic. I replied that I felt it was much more realistic than she realized. (And she likely thought “And THAT is why you are not married, ya maroon.”)

What I should have explained is that my list wasn’t exactly a check list. It wasn’t as though a woman had to score 9 out of 10 to be considered. It was just more of a “these are the factors that are weighed, but I go with my gut” type of scenario. My gut processes the information, then sends the question to my brain, as if it is one of those notes you get passed in the seventh grade:

“Do you think this relationship is going to last? Check one.

_____ YES

_____ NO

(Mr. MacPhee has a chalk handprint on his butt!)”

I don’t like the thought of divorce. I’d have to give her half of my hockey card collection. And I’d hate to have my boudoir proclivities discussed in the courtroom. Or worse yet, the press. (Because obviously the media would be very interested in how I get down.)

Maybe I am at an age where I should be more jaded about the whole thing, but that just hasn’t kicked in yet.

And maybe my “list” has caused me to miss out on something great.

But, I think you have to go with your gut.

With that said, I am going to listen to some Joni Mitchell.

My name is Peter and I’m a giant sap.

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