Not a lot of people know this about me, but I’m secretly a hopeless romantic.
This romanticism is carefully hidden away and packaged under layers of pragmatism. I like things and people to be direct and am often confused by people who don’t just say what they mean. I am infuriated by media romances (TV, film, novels) in which the principles can’t seem to get their shit together enough to just say, “Hey, I like you. Do you like me?” and instead spend their time hopelessly mooning over someone who doesn’t know they exist. What’s wrong with them that they can’t just march up to the object of their affection and say something?
There is this notion (driven by those media romances) that romance happens without verbal communication. They will look up from their respective books in a coffee shop, their eyes will meet, they will realize that they are both reading the same edition of the Critique of Pure Reason, and then they’ll drop their half-caf-soy-lattes (hers with a shot of almond syrup) in the rush to fling themselves into one another’s arms.
This is ridiculous.
And yet, I still love romance novels and romantic comedies (the romantic tragedies usually involve someone doing something stupid for “love” when what they mean is “gross obsession”) when I can find the ones that aren’t utterly insipid. The trappings of romance are ridiculous. Love never is.*
Most of all, though, I love stories of romance between real people.
My family doesn’t have a lot of these stories (or if they do, no one ever tells me about them). It’s one of the reasons I’m writing this blog: to tell the story of a romance, one which is silly (because Nate and I are nothing if not a bit silly), sweet, funny, and more than anything, full of love and laughter** both in copious quantities.
Every time I encounter one, it gives me hope for the future, for humanity, and such a spectacular fuzzy feeling inside. This one has been making the rounds of the internet, and I’ve bookmarked it and read it over and over again because it’s both funny and sweet, and it’s worth sharing. Without further ado, I share The Second Date Story.
And if you have a romantic story (or several) to share, do so with abandon. Love is always worth celebrating.
*Except sometimes when it is, and then it’s hysterical.
**My favorite Irish toast is, “Here’s to me and here’s to you, and here’s to love and laughter; I’ll be true as long as you, and not a moment after.”