Romance for Real Women

My name is Lesli Miller.

Note the absence of the “e” in Lesli. This is not an accident. My mother, a darling, loveable, and totally brainless refuge from the sixties, was happily dissuaded by her mother from naming me “Moonbeam” or “Chastity” or another of the popular names of that era. For which, believe me, I am grateful.

But, she was not above changing a perfectly lovely name like “Leslie” to omit the critical, final vowel. Or perhaps she just forgot it on the birth certificate. I’ve never gotten a straight answer from her about this, but then “straight” isn’t in her vocabulary.

Never mind. I love her. But, I’m not like her.

I’m a mature person, approaching forty. I have two children, one, a boy, is in junior high. The other, a girl, is in grade school. Their names are William and Elizabeth. I mostly call them William and Elizabeth although they’ll also answer to Bill and Beth.

I married the children’s father when I became pregnant with William under the misapprehension that the marriage would last forever. It only lasted until Beth was born, that is to say, a few years.

Now, however, I am in a committed relationship with a perfectly lovely man who is a white collar professional in a middle management job which is all he wishes to me say at present about his employment. In one of the nice surprises that life brings, he and my mother are devoted friends. We have not yet discussed marriage. Enough of that.

I have an older and younger sister. Despite my grandmother, Mom had her way with my older sister and named her “Blessing.” Really. When Blessing was sixteen she marched to the courthouse and with my grandmother’s enthusiastic help changed her name to “Mary.” Mary, being the mother of God, of course, is about as straight as you can get in a name, which is exactly what she was aiming for. Despite that, with three divorces under her belt and numerous affairs, Mary has proved to be a “blessing” to many men, a factoid she hates for me to mention and which her three former husbands might dispute.

My other sister is Anne. Mom finally found that final vowel at the precise moment she didn’t need it. Anne’s never married, although she has flirted with it on numerous occasions.

I’ve wandered.

I have a job I don’t like and which I don’t want to discuss just now.

I raise the children myself without financial assistance from their father on a budget that never seems to stretch far enough.

The point of all this was to give you some idea of who I am and why I thought I might have something to contribute in this blog.

Romance, my own and the romances of my sisters, friends and Mom are a big part of my life. I love romance. I love the wonderful feelings associated with it. I love talking about romance and thinking about it.

But I’m a real woman, with ups and downs, bad days and good days. I’ve got kids to feed and educate, a kitchen to clean and a boss to placate. In some ways, I think I’m the luckiest person on earth and in other ways I think maybe I’ve had a few bad breaks.

Other romance and dating blogs just seem to kind of dismiss all of the important stuff, background, cultural influences, experience, knowledge, common sense and humor real women bring to romance and to their lives, insisting instead that sexy lingerie will solve all our problems. (It’ll solve a few. Trust me on that.)

In any event, I thought a broader discussion might be of interest to other real women.

We’ll see how it goes.