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Awaiting my own love story

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I shifted my bum a little, getting more comfortable on the sofa I was half-lying, half-sitting on, mind, body and soul engrossed in the romance novel I had started about an hour back.

I was getting close to the happily-ever-after part and was almost literally holding on to my fingers to stop from giving in to the urge to flip to the last pages.

Adolfo Santa-Cruz was sex on legs and I was practically drooling from the image I had of him in my head already.

His cockiness – which was only natural seeing as he is rich as Croesus – was almost as appealing as his Mexican good looks.

I didn’t even mind at all that he was madly in love with Anastasia, on the contrary. It only enhanced his sex appeal for me. A handsome, filthy rich, romantic man. Oh my type of guy, I sighed dreamily.

20 minutes later, I was done reading and had gone into full time daydreaming. I really wanted my prince charming. Oh, how I wanted to be in love.

Now I wanted my Prince Charming

I wanted to look into my prince’s eyes and declare with all my heart that I was madly in love with him, that he could do with me whatever he wanted, that I went to bed thinking of him of him and woke up with thoughts of him in my head because I had had the most wonderful dream about us.

Looking back on all my 19 years on earth, I couldn’t exactly say I had that much faith left though. I mean, I hadn’t even kissed a guy, talk more of date one.

All my life I had lived with this secret hope that love would come someday and knock me embarrassingly off my feet, face flat, bum exposed and everything dreamy.

So far, I couldn’t exactly say it had gone so well, and the more dominating pessimism in me was almost beginning to convince me to give up on this dream I had had almost all my teenage years.

I had to admit that most of it was my fault – with reason I must add. I was a little too selective for my own good. I wanted Mr. Perfect, I wanted tall, dark and handsome, I wanted a guy I could share ideas with, a man who loved reading as much as I (certainly not romantic books), a guy who thought I was beautiful and who would never cheat on me.

Just look at God, look at!
Many dream of this

I wanted a guy who was dying to take me home to show to his parents because he already had plans of us spending the rest of our lives together. I wanted someone I could open myself completely to, seeing as I always seemed to be holding some of me back.

I wanted a guy who would spoil me silly with gifts and calls and text messages. I wanted someone I would oh-so-gladly spend all my allowance on, someone I would buy pretty gifts for, like a teddy bear he would name after me and shamelessly leave lying on his bed for anyone (that ever got the chance of getting into his room) to see. I wanted a guy who thought the entire world of me.

Oh boy, had it been a difficult search so far?! None of these guys ever completely fit. They were never ideal. The rich ones were annoyingly full of themselves and the broke ones had self esteem problems.

The too-handsome ones were vain and shameless philanderers, while the unattractive ones were just that – unattractive. The overly intelligent ones were either too geeky or too smarty-pants, while the not-so-smart ones were; let’s just say I didn’t hang around long enough to find out what their faults were.

At the ripe old age of 19, I was beginning to feel like I would leave this world an old maid, but that tiny optimistic part of me that was not yet jaded still had some hope, hope that I would still live my Cinderella life, happily ever after and all of that included.

Yup, there was still time. 19 wasn’t exactly super duper old after all. My cheek dimpled at this little ray of hope.

Nigeria News.

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