It must have seemed odd to most; he wasn't from any of the circles of usual suspects, and all my peers knew I was a serial mate-dater. I would rarely venture outside of the extended friend circles of our little clique, as I seemed to only fall for people I already had a solid mate-ship with.
In the past this has, needless to say, got me into endless amounts of trouble.
My search for a companion started, as most of my ventures into a possible relationship do, with vast amounts of alcohol.
At this time of my life, my children and I were living with two of the greatest people I know.
They are a married couple with two little girls of their own. They had lovingly taken us all in, for reasons that I will not go into in this entry, and had moved Heaven and Earth (turned the playroom into a little haven for me, and moved their youngest daughter out of her room and in with her sister, so that my kids could have their own room) just so we would have a safe and caring place to rest while we all found our feet.
On the night in question all four children in the house were sleeping, and Mrs. Great and I were happily perched in the kitchen, pyjama clad with mad hair, watching stupid YouTube videos, whilst swigging straight out of bottles of Spumante - what a classy pair we made!
The idea of dating sites somehow made it's way into the conversation, and before I knew it, I had been convinced that making a dating profile was the best idea ever ("Even if a relationship doesn't work out, you could still find some sexy booty calls!").
The hours passed with us both cackling and chortling, spiralling further into drunken messes, as we composed what we thought to be an absolutely hilarious biography for my profile.
The paraphrased end result read something along the lines of; "Hot young MILF, seeking man! Must have a car, as I do not, and must have a large bank account, as I don't have one of those either. Must be funny, sweet, and well endowed."
The night eventually wound down, and I was left alone at the kitchen counter, re-reading this ridiculous, unflattering description. All of a sudden I felt completely helpless. I was never going to find someone.
Who would want me? I was 24, with two young children, no house, no job, no car, and no savings.
I had a mountain of emotional baggage, and had recently come out of a situation so emotionally, physically and mentally destructive, that I required the kind of acute attention normally reserved for haemophiliac babies.
I opened another bottle of cheap bubbles (which by this stage I most definitely did not need), marched myself outside to the veranda, lit a cigarette, and broke down in heaving sobs.
I stayed there, chain-smoking, guzzling nasty booze, and crying deeply well into the night.
The next morning, I woke with a resolve to re-write this Biography-of-Tara, and attempt to show myself in a favourable light. If not for anyone else, then for me.
I would make myself see that I was worth something.
I wrote that I was a young mother, and that I loved my children above all else. I loved all children, and would be delighted to find a partner who either had some of their own, or who wanted to create a family with myself and mine.
I wanted a companion to share my life with, and I believed I had a lot of love to share. I loved to cook, and could think of nothing better than sharing a bottle of wine, while cooking a meal with my significant other.
I adored hugs and affection, so if you were looking for a highly affectionate partner - I was your girl!
I loved to laugh, to talk, to explore, to learn and to listen.
I was looking for someone to share my life with. I wanted the real thing.
I uploaded a recent photo of myself, and waited.
I will say now, that watching many people 'view' your profile, then choose not to contact you is more than a little discouraging. I mean, they had been matched with me. I clearly had similar interests and values to these men, and yet I didn't seem enough.
It was suggested to me by Mr. Great, that my hair may have put them off.
You see, at this time, in an incredibly cliched act of self-expression/re-birth I had coloured my hair how I used to when I was much younger. It was fire engine red, with extensions trailing down to my elbows, and styled in an Amy Winehouse beehive, with a side fringe.
I thought it looked awesome, Mr. Great thought I looked like a twat.
<--------- Observe the Arial/Winehouse redhead.By that evening, after not a single person had messaged, poked, or in any way cyber-contacted me, I decided to find my own match and message him. After scrolling through a few pages of my apparent could-be-soul-mates, I found Luke.
He had a gentle face, with kind, shiny eyes. They were striking and blue, with tiny crows feet decorating their edges - it is no exaggeration to say that I was captivated instantly. He had a cheeky smile that seemed contagious, and he wore it in all his pictures (I stalked them good and proper). He wore band shirts, and loved alternative music. He liked the same comedians and movies that I did. He also loved good food, good drink, hugs, and blessedly, he also wanted a family.
I was sold for sure by his final answer. The question asked to members was, 'What do you wish people knew about you?', and he had answered, in an endearing throw-away manner, "I'm a pirate".
My face broke into a smile, and I messaged him.
There you have it. We had opened Pandora's Box; the messages flew thick and fast, turning to texts, then to phone calls, and finally to the first meet. We met each other for the first time just under a week after I first saw his grinning face on a website.
I was so nervous. I must stress at this point, that I am not normally a giggling school girl, or nervous on date. Although in saying that, I will also point out that I haven't really been on many dates.
While I have had more boyfriends and partners then I care to admit, it is a rare occasion when someone actively tries to woo me.
So, after breaking down like a crazy person when Mr. Great dropped me at the station (he laughed), then shaking as my date and I sent texts back and forth on the train, I finally reached the meeting point.
This was it.
We met under the big clock. He was standing there, dressed in jeans, a band shirt and a black brimmed beanie. I was in jeans, knee-high flat boots, a black tank top, and had my trademark hair bright and flowing. We looked like a pair of angsty 16 year old students, not like a 26 and 24 year old, both with full time jobs (his at a nationwide company, mine as a parent).
We awkwardly approached each other, grinning shyly as were exchanged hellos, then we hugged.
I was overcome at once by how safe it felt. I loved that he was only slightly taller than me, because my head could nestle comfortably in the nook between his shoulder and neck. He smelled amazing. He was warm, and I felt an incredible strength when he held me.
The date proceeded as I imagine most first dates do, he bought the movie tickets, while I insisted he let me pay for popcorn and soda. We exchanged shy glances, laughed too hard at each others jokes, and never once stopped smiling.
Shortly after we reached the cinema, and settled in to watch Batman: The Dark Knight Rises.
We weren't touching at all, and yet I'm quite certain the temperature between us was skyrocketing.
The air seemed thick with a tingling energy.
Half way through the movie, he slowly reached over and clasped my hand. We traced circles on the inside of each others palms, and toyed with one another's fingers. I had butterflies. Butterflies.
The girl who had been known to quite comfortably suggest a blow job as an icebreaker (sorry Mum & Dad, I know you read this), was visibly trembling just because this person was holding her hand.
After the movie, we realized that if I wanted to catch the last train home, I would have to leave then and there. I decided not to. Wild horses could not have dragged me away from this Man.
We made our way back to his place. I remember informing him that if he turned out to be an axe murderer, and happened to chop me up into a million pieces, I was definitely going to come back and haunt him.
At his house we watched a movie. I kid you not, watched a movie. Once the second film was started though, we snuggled up to one another, and invariably shared our first kiss. It was magic.
Everything about that night filled me with a certain knowing, a knowing that everything about this was right.
This must have been the feeling all those people in movies had been jabbering on about.
I felt as though I was being cloaked in a warm, protective blanket. Everything was safe. Everything was beautiful. All was well.
Needless to say, we saw each other many times after that, in fact we became almost inseparable.
So much so that the Great's actually invited him to move into my room, so we could have a trial run, living together as a couple.
And now, living in our own house, with my two children who he has lovingly taken under his wing, and one more more bundle of love on the way, I can honestly say this is the happiest I have ever been.
This relationship, and all aspects involved within it, has inevitably made me a better person.
We have taught each other how to be the best people we can be.
We practice patience, forgiveness, and express love more than either of us ever have before.
But the most amazing thing? The thing that leads me to believe this will stand the tests of time?
When he places his hand on my cheek and kisses me, I still get butterflies. Every. Single. Time.
No comments:
Post a Comment