The Story of Us.
All us married folk have our own tale. 


 I would be willing to bet that most of our love stories do not play out the way we see a romantic comedy in the cinema.    I am fairly certain that Left Brain would not just let me float on that door alone, while he froze in the water thanking the day he met me. 

Or the years of prolonged sexual chemistry and attraction that never plays out - until it does; followed by bliss, then "on a break", then on again, then off again when they marry someone else but say your name in their wedding vows.....
I think most of our love stories might be much simpler.     And take longer than 30 minutes to 2 hours.    Although, I suppose there are those that are quite complicated too.

The course of true love never did run smooth;
From "A Midsummer's Night Dream" - Shakespeare

Retired Not Tired Memory Monday
Retired Not Tired Memory Monday

I don't often say much about Left Brain here on the blog due to his occupation.    I don't know if family, co-worker, or some that he might have had "dealings" with him in the course of duty will be reading my posts.    It's not a matter of my NOT wanting to share more about him, or of US:  but it really is partly security for him.     He is a public figure - in a sense - thus, it is both necessary and respectful to have a bit of restraint.

However, I can tell you how we met. 
Well, actually, I didn't even WANT to meet him.   Ha.
It was a time in my life when I was DONE with men.   I had been dating all the wrong sorts, pretty  much because I did not want to get married.   Yet, as the big 3-0 approached, that had become very weary.
I just wanted to be alone.   Or a dog.

So of course:  everyone wanted to set me up. 
One of whom was a co-worker who I had become very close to and very fond of her family; including her fiancee.    Naturally, I was invited to their wedding. 

Now, I was not one to turn down ANY kind of party back then; so my reluctance to attend, especially when I realized that it was very likely she would set me up with some young fella:  well, it tells you how much I really did not want to meet anyone.

I was having drinks with another friend who was spending the majority of the evening trying to convince me to go to the wedding reception.  (They had got married in a tropical setting and were having just a reception upon their return.)    I was wavering back and forth.  I had brought my cocktail dress - but I hadn't put it on yet.    And I loved that dress. 

I'll be honest: my ass looked fantastic in that dress.    I still have it.  I'm a big dreamer.

Anyway, at one point my friend, who is a certain spiritual nature such as myself, finally had enough and just grabbed my hand and said:

Listen!  I know you don't want to go.  I know you are still hurting from *insert asshole name here*, but that's as much on you as him.   You played with fire and you got burned.  But tonight, I just feel that you NEED to go.  That yes, you will meet someone, and this will be different.  Maybe it won't be "the one" - but there is a reason you will need him.   I just really feel like you need to go.

Well, I trust this friend's wisdom implicitly, and despite where as I was at that point in my life: I do know what a "God moment" is.    So, within minutes, I was in that dress and in a cab.

When I got to the reception, the speeches were in progress.   I grabbed a drink and took a seat.  At one point a particularly handsome young man got up and said a very nice speech.  Not fancy.  Not particularly eloquent: but straight from the heart.   Simple, honest and pure.   I thought "I hope that's the one she wants me to meet!"    And then smacked my own self. 
Calm.Down.Self.

A few hours went by and the bride had not brought any eligible young men over,  but I was having  a good time anyway chatting up friend and stranger alike.  There may have been shots at one point, but I was still retaining my faculties.

And then....  around 10 pm, not exactly the midnight of fairy tales, but still.... I heard my name being yelled across the room.   It was the bride - calling me over.    And what do you know but handsome He Who Speaks Good was with her.   Introductions followed.   Dancing followed (side note: I did not marry him for dancing ability, but solely on enthusiasm.)    We talked alone and with others, and as the evening wore on and dancing and laughing and drinking lead to over-heating:  I needed some air.

So what does Handsome He Who Speaks Well do?  (I had not become aware just yet that he was a Left Brain.)   He walked over to the Groom, who it turns out he had been in Army Cadets with many years ago, and asks his permission to take me outside for a walk.

The hell just happened?
See, I had never really encountered a gentleman before, so I wasn't sure if this whole Permission thing was a little paternalistic, or endearing.   However, since he was in police training, I figured that it was part showing me he cared about my feeling safe..... and respected.

The hell kinda man is this?
Well, it turns out; one that talks AND walks well.
Also, kisses.
Shut up!   I'm almost 30!!  I've been waiting forever for Mr. Right -- at that point, I kiss the frog as soon as I can to make sure he is not a toad. 

Long story short, he also respectfully requested to drive me home at the end of the party.   And also asked me out on a date for the next weekend.   I of course accepted.

I mean, how many good talking, walking and kissing Frog Princes do you think are out there?!
I wasn't planning on letting Mine get away anytime too soon.

Plus, he thought my ass looked great in the dress too.
Despite the fact that he did live 2 hours away?
I decided this one definitely had the potential to be a keeper.

Turns out, he was.
 
*Images were created with my Digital Scrapbooking Software - My Memories.  You can find a link in the Image Slider under my header.   Version 6 is recently released.   Use my code to receive discount.*

About The Author
Leslie Botchar, aka "RoryBore", is a SAHM enjoying life one day - and one cup of coffee - at at time.
She has had several articles published in The Huffington Post, and hopes to one day marry her skills as Word Wrangler and Photo Ninja. Leslie spills it all on her blog Time Out For Mom, and invites you to join her for some Mom "Me" Time.
Connect with her: Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.