The Duller The Better...

Given that the last post I did was a serious story about our elopement, I thought to follow it up with a tongue-in-cheek piece. The following is an article I wrote in 1986 for a short-lived White Rock magazine. It should be said that while my husband thinks himself to be a dull man. I consider him anything but!

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Looking spiffy in 1986

The Duller The Better…
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Given my choice, I’d take a dull man any day. I won’t deny that types who dress in high style and know the best sushi bar in town have their appeal. I’ve been known to fall for polished looks and a well-rehearsed line; but in the long run, it’s hard to get serious about someone who squeezes you in between his weight lifting and his facial. .

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Life is saner with a dull man. He will not let you spend your evenings alone while he visits the tanning salon or has his hair styled. If he brings home a curling iron, it will be for you, and you will never have to worry about dousing yourself with cologne that turns out to have a hearty, macho name. The only perfume in the house will be yours; likewise the only purse.
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Blind to advertising, the dull man follows no-one’s lead. He remains oblivious to the latest craze, plodding onward in jeans and plaid shirt, while his counterparts rush to buy pastel sweaters and pants with someone else’s name stamped across the behind. .

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His hair has never been spiked, his ear never pierced, His conversations are not sprinkled with tales of his exploits; he’d rather listen to you than talk about himself. He’s more likely to take you on a picnic than a night on the town, impressing you most by not trying to impress you at all.
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This man may light few fires in the world but he’s the one that keeps them burning. His money is spent on braces for his kids, not on payments for a Porsche. He goes to the beach to swim, not to compete; and if he owns sunglasses, he wears them on his face, not on a string around his neck.
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His closet holds only what he needs; it is not crammed with jumpsuits, bell-bottomed pants, and the accumulated whims of yesteryear. This reassures me: I could never be comfortable with a man who owns more clothes than I do!
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Nor do I wish to fight for space in the jewelry box. Dull men do not wear chains or leave their shirts unbuttoned to the navel.
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They know that romance goes beyond showy gestures and outward appearance. Their hair is soft to the touch, not stiff with mousse, and because they’re more interested in you than in themselves, dull men can, at times, be anything but dull!
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My opinions stem from experience. I married a dull man, and I am comforted by the fact that he has changed little over the years. He has never owned brand name jogging shoes or a book on gourmet cooking. No encounter group has benefited from his experience, no health-food restaurant prospered at his expense.
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In a world where fads breed and die like horseflies, he remains loyal to his own list of priorities – and I’m at the top of the list.
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That’s my kind of man!

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