Once upon a time I dated a very good looking guy. He was
tall, blonde, foreign, and everything I thought I wanted.
For two weeks we hung out every day straight, but it wasn’t
long before the thrill started to wear off. He
was boring. His sense of humor was non-existent, our conversations
were sleep inducing, and he didn’t get excited by food (that was the straw that
broke the camel’s back). I was exceptionally discouraged (of course dating someone
for two weeks and it not working out must mean that love will never happen for me). I remember being on a date with him one night and feeling
like I was going to burst into tears. I wanted to leave. I wanted to be anywhere but
with him.
As things with this guy started to fade away, my also very handsome
friend Brandon decided that he was interested in me. I told him about blondie
but he still insisted on taking me on a date, so I agreed. I was enthralled by
him. His dark curls, green eyes, full lips, light scruff, perfect nose, and muscular arms (I could go on and on) were
all well and good, but it was when he opened his mouth that I really felt my
heart doing somersaults
He was thoughtful, passionate, opinionated, sexy, hilarious, and oh so good. I felt excited and electrified. He had me laughing constantly
until my stomach ached. There is nothing I enjoy more than laughing. Not double
chocolate moosetrack ice-cream, not warm sunshine on my skin, not reading harry
potter, NOTHING. I saw a life of laughter with him, and I was hooked.
We started dating. A year
later we were engaged, and six months later we were married. It’s when I
realized that I couldn’t live without his adorable little chuckle, or crooked
smile, or high pitched singing, that I knew—he was made for me,
and I was made for him.
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