My boss is dreamy. He is. He's about 6'2", slim, with a lantern jaw, bright blue eyes and silver hair. He is also the consummate southern gentleman. I've always thought he was very handsome, but now that I really know him, I simply adore him. He is as beautiful inside as out.
Dr. Mark Escamilla is dreamy. Yes, he's very nice looking, but his dreaminess is more because he is so innovative, so connected, and so real. He also has the most beautiful family -- lovely wife and 2 precious littles. I swear I'd give the man a kidney if he needed it.
Vic is dreamy. I mean it's obvious. Incredibly fit, handsome, and so encouraging on my fitness journey.
I even have a tiny bit of a cougar-crush on Ricky, who is Vic's assistant. He is just the nicest guy. Also very handsome, if you think Leonardo De Caprio is handsome -- and I know you do.
I love these guys. I do. When I get all swoony over Dr. Mark, or Vic, or any of the many many many men (and women) that I have a crush on, the casual observer may misconstrue my intentions.
Because I don't wanna kiss them or anything.
I don't want my children to look like them.
I don't want to grow old with any of them. (In fact, I am pretty sure I will be dead by the time Ricky is old)
The man I really love is Greg, my husband. He's the one I want to kiss, etc. He's the one my babies look like. He's the one I want to grow old with.
Greg knows that I think the world of these people. He also knows that he is my whole world.
And he knows I think he's super dreamy.