Call me bitter. Call me unromantic and cynical, but there are some people who become so disgustingly and single-mindedly infatuated that they make me want to smack them around with a splintery 2x4. I'm not talking about people who feel giddy and light-headed after a wonderful first date, I don't mind the occasional "He's so cute" accompanied by a moronic giggle. Languid sighs and lazy smiles are all fine by me. No, I'm talking about the type of co-dependant freakazoid who becomes so obsessed with a person they barely know that he/she is unable to converse intelligently about any topic except how wonderful their new paramour is. If I asked such a person what he thought of Gramsci's theories on hegemony, he'd stare at the sky half-lidded and sigh, "Ohh, she's so perfect. I can't stop thinking about her."
Consider the transcript of a conversation I had on IRC tonight:
(Nick changed to protect the obnoxius)
*Besotted_Mooncalf* He's so wonderful!
*Besotted_Mooncalf* my new boyfried!
*Me* Uh. Okay. You coulda said hi. How're you, woulda been nice too..
*Me* Why are you frowning?
*Besotted_Mooncalf* not forwning(sic) sad
*Besotted_Mooncalf* i won't be able to see him for a week and a half
*Me* Jesus, I was only able to see my last boyfriend every two weeks
+if I was lucky, sometimes as long as 2 months. A week and a half isn't that
*Besotted_Mooncalf* it is when you're used to seeing him everyday
*Me* it's still not that serious. It's only a little week and half.
+Those fly by quickly.
*Besotted_Mooncalf* maybe because we've only been together for a week
*Besotted_Mooncalf* he's the greatest everything
*Besotted_Mooncalf* greatest company ive ever had
*Besotted_Mooncalf* greatest conversation
*Besotted_Mooncalf* greatest friend
*Besotted_Mooncalf* greatest sex (Litany of "greatests" cut short to spare the stomachs of gentle readers)
*Besotted_Mooncalf* he's Awesome!!!!!1 (I do so despise the use of awesome in every day speech.)
*Besotted_Mooncalf* oh, and he's the most beautiful man in the world.
The rest of the conversation consisted of me pretending to politely listen to Besotted's hyperbolic pronouncements on his new beau's godlike virtues. Had he been a bit more literary minded, I might have heard about his Jovial brow, his Martial visage, his Mercurial thighs. As tempted as I was to quote the Shakespeare sonnet that begins "My lover's eyes are nothing like the sun...", I didn't. What I did do was to point out that a week isn't really a very long time to know anyone, and that maybe Besotted should take things slow. This advice was offered in the most genial and polite manner imaginable, and of course was met with great offence. Because, after all, Besotted's beau is perfect.
But a week isn't a very long time to know someone. Of course a suitor with a genuine interest in you seems absolutely wonderful, he's still trying to impress you. It's difficult to find out anyone's annoying little flaws and god-awful idiosyncracies in a week. If you belch at the table, regularly walk around the house in ratty, greying underwear with mysterious stains and think pull my finger is the very height of humor, you're probably not going to do any of these things while you're worried about getting in someone's good graces. Love isn't pretending someone you don't really know is utterly perfect based on limited observation, it's understanding that that special someone has many flaws, accepting the fact that they'll occasionally drive you batshit and still being secure in the fact that this person is the one you want to be with.
I'm not at all against infatuation, I think it can be sweet. But when you let it go to your head and create and impossible ideal from facets of what makes a person, you're just heading into trouble and heartbreak. Not to mention the fact that you're probably annoying the hell out of your friends.