Yesterday was a love-filled day in the life of me. Which is strange since I’m, well you know, not.
Last week as I lay in bed watching The Town and patting Paisley, Dave (a gent I’ve known since first year University, that now lives in Calgary) commented on how I always tell his dog how much I love her, but he’s never heard me say it to a person. He was just jealous that Pais got the pats. A hopeless romantic, he went on to call me, joking of course as Dave has seen me as nothing less than a robot. Sure we’ve cuddled, but in no way shape or form were we lovey. All this coming for the guy that told me he could never date me because I talked far too much.
It’s been three years since he moved out West and since I’ve seen him, little does he know that I’m surrounding myself with love and trying to be more open to the concept. Case in point Pt.1 and Pt. 2.
It seems to be a common topic in the things entering my life.
It appears in the artwork I buy:
I even wear it around my neck:
I bought this for the word “lovely” and sister had to point out that the second definition was “love-making”. Ha ha – sexual intercourse.
Back to yesterday..my cousin’s fiance’s bridal shower. The craziest thing about it all? Is that I’ve only met Sandra once before – at Nana’s funeral. We aren’t a very close family, but making the effort to getting to know us all is a very sweet gesture. One point.
I also got to get all dressed up. Another point.
I call this look Stepford Sailor. I also suck at taking self portraits.
So here we were, at a tea party with all of the Bridgman/Stead women. It was a gorgeous little gathering of 14 in the top room of Auberge du Petit Prince in London, Ont.
We all settled down after a round of hugs and kisses to drink tea and eat teeny crustless sandwiches, which I don’t touch because mayonnaise gives me the heebie-jeebies. The scones on the other hand, pass one my way.
I was having such a fantastic time with my earl grey steeped to perfection in my beautiful white china cup. We were then directed to take a piece of florecent pink paper (hot!) and write a note to Sandra with words of wisdom about love and marriage. Oh yes, make way for the expert. I had no idea what to write, instead I got sister to write it and sign my name, too. I’m still not actually sure what she wrote.
Mom, who will be married for 30 years this May 15, had the wisdom – clearly, she’s doing something right after all these years. She wrote something down quickly and passed it along.
What did you write mom? I asked. “S &M,” she says. (Now you know where I get it from.) “In all seriousness,” she continues. “I told them they need to make the time for each other. No matter what comes up, work, children, anything, make sure they have time together.” What great advice, momma.
Presents were opened, and there were no other tasks. And that’s when it all started. The questions. Yes, I understand I haven’t seen my aunts since August, but if I had anything to share I would. Remember? I’m the one that talks a lot.
How’s the job? Ugh.
How was your trip? Amazing!
How’s the ankle? Ouch.
What are your new activities? I blog (that got them all excited!)
And then…and then…the dreaded question. Who is your plus one for Sandra and Mike’s wedding? I don’t have one.
Wait, what was that? The world just stopped? No, no. I don’t think it did. But in that room, it certainly stood still. Mike is 35, a full ten years older than this kitten, and he’s getting married now. So why at 25 is it the end of the world that I’m going stag?
This question was asked over and over again. I smiled, tilted my head, and gave the same answer. Look as I bat my eyelashes, look at my little-girl dimples, look how cute, please, please, please stop looking at me with pity. I’m sure lepers would get a better reception than the single.
And then Sandra, the bride-to-be, asked. Oh future cousin-in-law, don’t be so silly.
“Nonsense!” She insists. “You’ll check plus one and open it to the Universe.”
Has she read S&S? Does she know how I feel the Universe likes to give me signs and play with my mind?
“I’ll see you in six weeks, you can introduce me to him then.” Another point. I like this chick. Way to go, Mike!
Hugs to everyone as I headed out the door. The last hug – my aunt Sue, the mother of the groom – who whispered, honey you have to find a date for the wedding. No pressure.
You know what they say – you can never say no to a bride. I’ve done my part and checked the box, it’s your turn Universe. Feel free to turn me into a believer.
Perhaps I’m a romantic after all.
On that note, it’s April and I’m looking for my date this month.