My Kind of Love Story

In social situations (which I totally get into all of the time. No matter how much I may want to but I definitely haven’t reverted to hermit lady ways. Not that I ever did of course. I’m a freaking social butterfly), certain topics arise with not at all alarming regularity. As a lady, I am naturally defined by my relationship status (they might have asked what I do for a living or something related to my educational background but you just know that’s the question they’ve been dying to ask).

Once it’s been established that I am safely coupled up, the conversation naturally flows to how we met. The single word ‘online’ can serve as a full stop to our discourse. Or it will spark intense surprise that such a thing is even possible. It’s not, I made it up. Just think, if encountering each other on a website is the story I’ll admit to, what salacious gossip am I attempting to hide?

Nope, can’t be bothered. We really did meet on a dating site, not even Tinder (which I am ever so slightly scared of #notarealmillennial) but that doesn’t exactly make for an exciting tale of romance. But that doesn’t have to be our narrative (because meeting through cyberspace is inherently shameful and not at all how they do it in the movies). As a writer, I can change the facts, turn it into a meet-cute and teach my other half the script.

Perhaps we were out at a bar, our eyes locked across it and we both went for the little bowl of peanuts at the same time. Or he saw me in the background of a local news report, was struck by my incandescent beauty (can’t blame him) and resolved to move heaven and earth just to meet me. Maybe I was a judge at a pie baking contest that he’d only entered for the sake of a bet but was fired up enough about to offer sexual favours in exchange for a winning verdict.

My kind of love story: we liked the cut of one another’s jib on our profiles, met and haven’t wanted to stop meeting since. Just wait for the bestselling novel.

Song choices courtesy of: Vance Joy and Taylor Swift


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