Do I still think about Paul, the Australian who made me laugh and offered me adventure? Absolutely. I googled him the other day, and found a picture of him online. He's even more handsome. I can't lie: My gut still squirms painfully when I think of him.

But I've made a decision and I stick by it. My husband helps me follow my intellectual dreams and indulge my hobbies. He even folds my underwear after I do the laundry.

I believe there's more than one "right one" for each of us. It is the daily commitment to the one you choose that matters. Jeff chose me, and now, I wake up each morning choosing him. That's what it's all about.

-- Joanne Seiff

A book and its cover

At almost 87, my grandmother only has a few minor aches and pains to remind her that she has fewer days ahead of her than behind. Her mind has remained sharp, too; the older she gets, the more likely she is to say whatever pops into her mind. Once, at the funeral of a rather large man who was a friend of the family, she loudly asked, of no one in particular, "Hunh! I wonder how they got him in that casket. You think they used a crane?"

So I shouldn't have been surprised by what she said several months ago when I introduced her to J., my then-fiancé and now third husband. She pulled me aside conspiratorially while he was greeting other members of my family and said, "He's OK-looking, but not as nice-looking as your other husbands." I patted her hand that rested lightly on my forearm and said, "Well, you can't always judge a book by its cover," then winked at her and walked away.

I had to admit she was right. J. wasn't as good-looking as either of the men who had preceded him. But at 40, I was finally old enough to know that it's foolhardy to judge a man by his looks.

I wish I had known that when I met my first husband, E., in my Spanish class when we were both seniors in college. He was everything I had been led to believe a woman could want in a man -- tall, dark and handsome. At 6-foot-3, he towered over me. He ran and he swam, and all that exertion gave him long, lean muscles that he used to move through the world as gracefully as a cat. His family was from Cuba and Spain, and he had dark hair and obsidian eyes that created a wonderful contrast with his alabaster skin. He was soft-spoken and gentlemanly -- he actually stood when a lady entered a room or left the dinner table. In my world, which was then populated by boys who wore baseball caps to dinner, even at fancy restaurants, this was immensely appealing.

After a year-long courtship, much of it punctuated with roses and other gallant acts, including a very traditional proposal on bent knee, we were married. I thought I was Cinderella, lucky enough to have married her Prince Charming and destined to live happily ever after. But "ever after" ended two weeks after the honeymoon when Prince Charming, after having too much to drink, slapped me and passed out on the living room floor.

Ten years after divorcing E., I met my second husband while in graduate school in Virginia. A. was tall, too, but in all other ways he seemed so different from my ex-husband: He was blond, blue-eyed and fair. He looked like bright sunshine after a dark storm. His disposition was sunny too -- he didn't really drink and didn't seem to have a temper. It was only after we were married that I realized -- again -- that appearances can be deceiving. What had appeared to be easygoing charm was actually an ingrained passivity about life that allowed him to go without steady employment for several years -- while I paid the bills.

When I first met J. on a blind date, he was not at all the kind of man I was used to dating. He wasn't tall -- at 5-foot-8 he was much shorter than either of my exes -- and though he was attractive, he wasn't gorgeous in that GQ kind of way. He was much too fair and had too many freckles for that. But after he moved in with me while I underwent surgery and stayed with me for weeks, taking care of me and my two large, active dogs, I realized he was everything I wanted: Maybe he wasn't tall, dark, and handsome, but he was honest and true, compassionate and kind.

Five years later, happily married -- for keeps this time -- I've finally learned that judging men by their looks can lead a woman astray. It's what's in a man's heart that really counts.

-- Michelle R. Hunt

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