Saturday, February 13, 2010
Right, in the name of love and in the spirit of the season (can you really call Valentine's Day a season?) I have decided to take a break from sleepless nights and snotty noses to tell a tale of love's young dream. A story so sweet as to give you cavities and so pure and true that if you listen long enough, you just might hear an angel cry...
And so, without further adieu, I give you the true life tale of "Myself and Himself: A love Story in Three Acts..."
Act One: We meet. It was at a Thanksgiving dinner thrown by a fellow Canadian in Ireland back in 2005. I'd love to say that the second our eyes met across a crowded room we just knew that we were meant to be and so rode off into the at that point nappy free sunset, however, that would be a big fat lie. For starters, I was sort of seeing another young Irishman and he was sort of seeing the hostess of the party.
Secondly, I found him ridiculously attractive and therefore would not under any circumstances talk to him until I mistook his (male) best friend to be his boyfriend, decided he was gay and therefore "safe" and thus set about having the funnest night I'd had since arriving in Ireland five months previously. At the end of the evening we exchanged numbers but never saw each other until...
Act two: Six months later, I was headed out for the evening with one of my housemates when we passed each other on the street. After a few hours frenzied texting, we agreed to meet up. It was six weeks before my visa ran out and I was due to leave the country. We became inseperable and when I left the following month, I lasted only a week in England before I was back to visit. He quit his job, left his house and together we headed to Scotland for the summer.
Our families were horrified. His parents were afraid he was throwing away his education for some tart (me) and wouldn't return for his final year of college. His Grandmother said I'd "whispered potions in his ear," and my mom was afraid I was going to get pregnant and ruin his (yes, his) life.
Well, he returned to Ireland for school in the fall and I returned with him, totally illegally of course.
Eight months later, we were pregnant on the Snot Queen and battling with the state to grant me permission to remain in the country. As we weren't married at the time (shock! Horror!) our union was not recognized by the state and it took another year, a second pregnancy and one verrrryy expensive lawyer to convince them we were committed.
Act Three: Four and a half years after our first meeting, in front of our family, our friends and our two beautiful daughters, we said I do. And we continue to live happily ever after.
Happy Valentine's day baby. I love you. x