He was perfect, Anna thought as she leaned against the counter. Prince Charming incarnate. That was what made it all so ironic.

A bemused smile crossed her face as she watched her boyfriend of three months gesture animatedly with his hands as he spoke. His name was Julian, Julian Donovan, and for some time now she had been convinced that he was actually either Romeo reborn or a demigod disguised as a human being. The man was nearly faultless!

Julian was tall and dark-haired, with the most captivating deep eyes Anna had ever seen. His complexion was so fine she occasionally found herself wondering if he wore foundation. He had a penchant for devilry and a dry sense of humor that could always make her laugh aloud. Sleekly fashionable, he wore tailored dark suits and Italian leather Oxfords with a different silk tie each day. He was the most suave man she’d ever met, politicians excluded, and his James Bond attitude became especially irresistible when he was behind the wheel of his Maserati Spyder. He was kind, even gallant--the type of man every woman dreamed of finding.

He brought her flowers for no reason. He took her out to fancy restaurants, where they would enjoy lobster bisque and share white raspberry mouse by candlelight. He often had chocolate delivered to her office, arousing the wild envy of every woman in the building. He showered her with gifts of all kinds. To Anna's delight, he never stood her up for football--or for anything, for that matter. He was the epitome of the perfect man, like Buttercup’s Westley or Barbie's Ken. She was in heaven. Well, at least at the beginning. In fact, she had been so dazzled by his perfection that it took her ages to notice that they were completely wrong for each other, and not in an odd-couple-that-can-work-it-out sort of way. More in a she's-a-slob-and-he's-a-snob sort of way.

She really was a slob. She admitted it. Short and a tad plumper than she'd like to be, Anna had dishwater-blonde hair that varied between uncontrollable frizz and lying completely limp, depending on its attitude du jour. She dressed in jeans and rumpled cotton t-shirts at home, overlarge corduroys and ill-fitting buttondowns for work. Her apartment was a mess six days out of seven, but it rarely bothered her enough to clean. She eschewed makeup and avoided high heels like the bubonic plague--a good thing, as Anna was highly accident-prone. She tended to poke herself in the eye or fall down the stairs whenever she went near anything too fancy or feminine. A klutz, she'd say with a laugh. Inept. She said it often.

It wasn't just the slob/snob dynamic that separated them. They were different in other ways, too. Anna was prone to loud bursts of laughter, the sort that turned every head in the room and ricocheted off the walls, while an ironic smile was Julian's highest compliment to comedy. Anna's speech was full of vibrant expressions and funny colloquial sayings; Julian's was refined and eloquent, like an old-fashioned orator. Anna loved corn dogs and mac-n-cheese and other microwaveable comfort foods, but Julian couldn't be satisfied by less than gourmet perfection. Anna was as easygoing as the downtown river she loved, and Julian was a bit uptight. He liked control of every situation, perhaps so he could ensure that it lived up to his standards. He had been raised in a well-to-do household by a lawyer father and germophobe mother, which Anna thought explained everything. They were different, very different, but Anna had thought things could work. She had hoped they would.

And, for a while, everything had gone famously. He made her smile, and he was unquestionably generous. But Julian was from a different background than Anna, and it showed in a myriad of little ways. Always charming and perfectly-groomed, he seemed to expect her to be as much of a lady as the women he had known growing up. She felt as if there were daily, almost unintentional reminders of the things that bothered him: her casual manners, her slouching, her sloppiness, her light drawl. His gifts held messages she didn't want to hear. A pretty silk wrap-around dress, a fancy amethyst-and-peridot necklace, butter-soft brown leather stiletto boots: all things she'd never buy for herself, never wear of her own choosing. All things that wouldn't look out of place on a high-society wife, that should have delighted her, but instead made Anna wonder how well he knew her.

Anna grew quieter as she spent more time with him. Her joy faded from vibrant, open-mouthed grins to small, musing smiles. She stood more straightly. She spoke more softly. She dressed more elegantly. Julian told her once, while they were dining at a local sushi restaurant, that he was very proud of her. She was very different from when he'd met her, he said, as if he expected her to be pleased with her own progress. She wasn’t.

Anna simply wasn't like the women Julian had grown up around, and he seemed to forget that. She didn’t want to be a member of the social elite. She liked little pleasures: hotdogs piled high with mustard and relish and still hot from the stand, Abbott and Costello movies, lounging in her pajamas during the Saturday cartoons, an early-morning run by the river. Every time Julian gave her an expensive gift or took her to a fancy dinner, she felt as if he was trying to pull a Pygmalion. But she was happy selling flowers on her metaphorical corner of life; it was full of joy and sunshine, and every time he tried to change her he took away another piece of her happiness. The world he lived in was lacking light and life and every form of bliss. She had tried to explain her feelings, but he remained completely oblivious. It made her furious.

But she never stayed mad for more than a few minutes. He was a twit, but in an endearing sort of way, and Anna couldn’t help but forgive him. He did try to listen, she knew, but he just couldn't imagine why she'd rather have a beer than champagne. High standards had been ingrained into him, and Anna knew he couldn't change that. It was part of his culture, the way country music and used Fords were a part of hers. For a long time that explanation had been enough for her to put up with his control-freak nature and the accidental hints. Today, though, it wasn't.

It was as if she'd been wearing sunglasses indoors, creating a pleasantly shady haze that prevented her from truly seeing him. She'd been so blinded his apparent state of perfection that she hadn't bothered to notice what faults he had. He certainly strove for flawlessness, but achieving it was out of the question. And today his failings had become disturbingly blatant. She had made a mistake, and his reaction was enough to shatter her rose-colored glasses. It was a harsh jolt back to reality.

It was a small thing. She'd been thirsty, and his almost-full glass had been sitting neglected on the counter between them as they'd bantered about that night's plans. Without thinking, she had picked it up and taken a sip. In her family it would never have caused such a storm in a teacup. If anyone had noticed, she might have gotten some good-natured ribbing. But Julian's mother had apparently passed on her germophobe genes, and that one swallow had been enough for him to throw a hissy-fit worthy of a six-year-old girl. No; like a six-year-old girl who'd been hit in the face with a mud pie--possibly one made of manure. His squeals and squeaks of outrage made her jaw drop in disgust.

Strangely, as he ranted about bacteria and manners and God-only-knew-what, Anna found herself detached, as if she were watching from a distance instead of being screamed at in her own kitchen. He really was a whiny little girl at heart, she realized. He was as fussy as an old maid and twice as sharp-tongued. In fact, she suddenly saw, he fit every part of the old maid stereotype except being old or female!

Anna laughed aloud, and he stopped mid-sentence. “What?” he asked, looking annoyed.

She smiled ruefully and shook her head. “It's nothing, Julian. Don't worry. But when you’re finished, you can leave.”

“May,” he corrected automatically. Then, “What?”

“You can leave,” she repeated gently, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’ve had enough.”

“Enough?” He looked ridiculous, standing there as gape-mouthed as a fish, and he knew it. For once, he didn’t care. “Enough of what?”

She smiled again, and the warmth spread to her eyes. She looked lighthearted, effervescent, as if she’d suddenly had a weight lifted off her shoulders. “Enough of you.”

It had taken another ten minutes before he had stopped sputtering and walked out the apartment door. He hadn’t understood, of course; he couldn’t possibly. But she felt she had finally come to her senses.

He was nearly perfect, but not remotely right for her. To her, his world would always be dim and lifeless, without the bright joy and radiant cheer that infused hers. Anna belonged in the sunshine.