The Man of My Dreams

By Alison Bruce

Did you grow up dreaming of Prince Charming? I didn't.

My first and last celebrity crush was Gene Wilder. I still have a soft spot for the man but otherwise I've reserved all my fantasies for characters...  and they ain't Prince Charming, Bub. This isn't just a Bad Boy thing either. No comb wielding greaser or tattooed biker for me. My guy has to have the honour of a Samurai, the loyalty of a Golden Retriever, an "I am what I am" attitude and...

I'll cut to the chase. The man of my dreams is Wolverine of the X-Men. He's not perfect. I'm not crazy about the smoking, of course. (Sure, he's okay. He's got a mutant healing factor. What about the rest of us, Bub?) Commitment issues? I can relate. Memory issues? I can't remember if I decided that would bother me or not. He's surly with everyone he meets regardless of age, gender, race or religion. But he also gives his respect regardless of age, gender, race or religion. And once he gives his love, or friendship, he doesn't renege. He's my knight in shining adamantium.

For my money, Chris Claremont's Wolverine is up there with Terry Pratchett's Sam Vimes, J.R.R. Tolkein's Samwise Gamgee, and Supernatural's Dean Winchester as romantic heroes. (Which might explain why I'm still single.) However, there is one thing that does give Sam, Sam, and Dean an advantage over Wolvie.

They sing. He doesn't.

I love to sing and I'd love to have someone to sing with. Give me a singing Wolverine and I'd be in seventh heaven.

And somebody has.
 


What can I say? I'm in love.