Isn’t love funny? I’m no expert on the stuff. My first love Mike (at fifteen) was unrequited and thought I was a total lunatic. He spent most of his time staring at me as though I had more than one head. Although with his hair, which resembled nothing more than a giant handle bar mustache perched atop his unnaturally large head, I’m not sure he had much room to talk about other people’s heads. Even those with more than one. Yet something in my pubescent brain sent me the message that this was a lethal Lothario before me.

Then there was Bill. I’m not sure I would have called that love. It was something, but I wouldn’t call it love. Demented. Obsessive dedication on my part and sad codependency on his. I don’t know but whatever it was he went and did the same thing to about a half a dozen other girls and still has not managed to really commit himself to a relationship at the age of 37. He was just the kind of guy that girl’s thought they could change but no one ever manages. I feel sorry for him.

Finally there’s my husband, also a Mike, although without goat hair. He’s a good one. I always tell my single girl friends who are convinced that there are no good ones left that there are. They just have to hold out and be happy with being single. It wasn’t until I was sick and tired of guys and so happy to be on my own that I finally met someone who was a perfect match for me. My soul mate if you believe in that kind of thing.

And yet with so little to recommend me I spend all my time talking about romance and death. Actually I’ve never died so I guess I do have a little more experience in the romance department. Actually I have a lot of experience in the dating department. I had the singular blessing of being thin and pretty in the years where it really mattered and had plenty of dates. (not so pretty and definitely not so thin anymore, but now it doesn’t really matter does it?) I would say literally in the thousands. With dozens and dozens of different men who looked different and acted different and treated me differently so if there’s anything I know it’s the quintessential date. Maybe that qualifies me to write romance.

Actually, you know I think the only thing that qualifies someone to write anything about romance is believing in love. That it exists, that thousands of lame dates aside there’s a someone out there for everyone. Could be anywhere. The grocery store. A choir. That’s where I met my husband, in a choir class at the University of New Mexico Institute of Religion. Maybe right in front of you. I believe in the conquering power of love and the healing power of trusting someone else and that qualifies me as much as anyone else willing to wax poetic about the big L. Gotta love the love.

Song of the day: That’s Where it Is, Carrie Underwood. I could search forever for what’s right before my eyes.

Quote of the day: I pay very little regard…to what any young person says on the subject of marriage. If they profess a disinclination for it, I only set it down that they have not yet seen the right person.
-Jane Austen

AJ