In the spirit of St. Valentine's Day, I thought I would share the magic of my own personal romance.
Caveat, I married by first husband when I was 19. I know...idiot, right?
<--------This is the latest known picture of him.
I was young and rebellious and he said all the right things at all the wrong times. Long story short on this one is that when I felt him at the age of 23, I had a one month old and the clothes on my back. Maybe some day I will delve into the inner workings of the particular nightmare that was my first marriage, but for right now, I will leave you with this...they make Lifetime original movies about the kinda shit I put up with. Word.
Moving on, I was 28 years old before I met the man who I am convinced was made for me.
Since the age of fourteen, I've been a romance hound. The first time I cracked open a book and indulged in some good old fashioned HEA action was life altering. I began to find myself pining and hoping for that amazing knight in shining armor. Over the years, my tastes began to change, although I always wanted the end result to be the same. Carry me off into the moonlight, and love me like your life depends on it. I partially blame my premature foray into matrimony on the combined desire of wanting an HEA and my newly acquired penchant for the anti-hero.
Somewhere around age sixteen I shifted my attention from handsome prices to the rugged stable boys. You know the type. Tall, packed with lean muscle and more than a few calluses. The dirtier they were, the better. I didn't want the doctor or the lawyer or the investment banker. I wanted the down to earth valet who parked their cars everyday, or the gardener who created beauty with a little blood, sweat and his two bare hands. Add to the muscly mix of hard work, a bit of broody alpha male and a few tattoos, maybe a tragic back story and OH MY SWEET JESUS, thud!
So I was twenty-eight years old. A single mom. I'd dated a few guys up to that point, some of them were even really great. Hell, I was even engaged once, but that didn't work out. I'd never been a big bar hopper and any attempt any friend and or family member made to set me up with someone ended in disaster so I decided it was not for me to leave my love life up to fate anymore.
I hit the internet. Match.com to be exact. I was on there for two weeks and in those two weeks I had more offers for clandestine meetings and dirty massage sessions than any erotic romance author could possibly fit into a 100k word novel! OI! I did, however, make ome last effort at salvaging my experience.
He was the first and only person I actually initiated contact with. I know, I know, I told everyone we met in a coffee shop but hey, considering the end result, I'd say its okay to come clean now.
Funny that we were both canceling our accounts. We exchanged numbers and for the better part of two weeks, my Blackberry was sorely abused from constant text messaging. We finally set up our first date. Lunch. Seemed safe.
But damn was I nervous.
I mean, I couldn't have written this guy any better. He was tall, with dark hair and the most amazing blue eyes I've ever seen. They weren't that brilliant crystal blue that you read about. They were more like a soft powdery blue. Not to mention the fact that the guy was lean muscle from head to toe. I couldn't help but swoon--inside of course cause I had to play it cool--when he hugged me goodbye after our lunch date and I felt the ridges in his lats. Oh, thud.
So that was on a Monday...the following Saturday we grabbed pizza, went to the drive in, I'm not divulging the rest of this, but I went home that night knowing that I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man.
Fast-forward about a week, he tells me he loves me...and I didn't freak cause I was so on board.
Fast-forward yet again about nine months and we said I Do!
Moral of my rant is this...it's one thing to write about romance, but if you want to really understand the complexities of an HEA, give your own romance a chance. So some people are wired for marriage and kids, but everyone needs love.