What’s wrong with being a “hopeless romantic”?

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grown kids

Well, there is the HOPELESS part to start with. Who wants to be a hopeless anything? A hopeless empress? Nope. A hopeless inventor of a marvelous machine? Nope again. A hopeless depressive? Soopernope.

Now that that’s settled let’s look at the ROMANTIC part.

jlcernadas on flickr

jlcernadas on flickr

You know yerdad , loves romantic comedies. I don’t scold him about it much, because honestly, I like them too. I enjoy the love stuff and the obligatory struggle and the way the characters shift ever-so-slightly to recognize that poor people are people too, or whatever the major revelation is. Watching some pretty people decide to finally tell the truth in order to humiliate themselves for love is adorable. Every time.

Appreciating this isn’t a thing I can explain to you, I realize now, so let’s just move on to an anecdote, shall we?

Not long ago, yerdad and I had a mini date night and ended up at a bar with a Drunk Girl. She was drunk enough that I was very pleased to hear the bartender checking on her status with concern. He wasn’t going to let her get in trouble, which is why lone drunk girls should always frequent nice, neighborhood places, but I digress.

She told me a bit about her frustrations with her singleness, although I’m pretty sure she didn’t realize that was what she was communicating.

She became very interested in our story and wanted to know how long we’d been together. We reckon that differently. I said eight years and he said eleven, even though I haven’t known him that long.

He said, “We are in our eleventh year,” with his greatest authoritarian voice. I let that be the answer, even though it’s not the way I count.

“You two are like peas and carrots,” she said, “that’s what everybody wants.”

“We are lucky,” I replied, “but it’s not easy. It is never easy.” I felt an urgency to be very honest with Drunk Girl.

“Everybody wants that.” She was getting a little bit pouty, so I shifted to the romance story that everyone likes.

“Our kids pushed this to happen,” I explained. “They liked being a big family together so there was no way they were going to let us give up on it.”

“Byoo-full. Peace and carrrotss,” she slurred.

She’s right, though. It’s beautiful, maybe even because it is not easy.

We are what happens when two people who like to rescue people collide. He saved me, then I saved him then he saved me some more and so on. We keep trying and flailing around and trying something else, because we’d always rather struggle together.

She was right too that I just love his big generous heart and the way he looks at me like I’m a steak dinner.

Don’t be a hopeless romantic, be a HARDWORKING romantic.

Love,
yermom

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