I’m a sucker for a good love story. The Hallmark channel has my number. P.S. I Love You and Made of Honor are my go-to feel goods. I was raised on The Princess Bride, and mawage and as you wish are words that have been a part of my vocabulary since I first learned words. I love me a love story.
My own love story? It’s no so glamorous. There’s no running after planes and other transportation shenanigans. No one fought for my hand. There was no big fiasco that lead to a passionate kiss and a knight in shining armor. Nope. Not so much. My love story is quite a bit more low key. We met in high school. We dated. We laughed and loved and decided that it was a good gig so we should tie the knot. We were young. It was Christmas break. Half our family couldn’t make the wedding because January in Montana (need I say more?).
We’ve had a normal(ish) life. But even without the Hollywood drama, it’s one heck of a love story. You see, he oils my boots, making sure the leather stays soft and keeps my feet dry. He checks the oil in the car before I make a trip. (Lord knows this girl doesn’t want to be stranded on the side of the road). He makes me Jon-corn, his very own version of kettle corn, which is much better than the stuff bought at fairs and festivals. He understands my crazy. Now this, friends, is a feat of monumental proportions. He loves our kids. He tolerates my Gilmore Girls marathons. He hugs me when I cry over commercials. And country songs. And Jesus. He knows that sending me flowers on our anniversary would just irritate me. He framed our vows instead.
So no, it’s not a knock-your-socks-off story. It’s not flamboyant and over the top. It’s simple and every day and coffee on Sunday morning. And that’s just perfect. We tend to get so stuck on the movie reel that we forget the beautiful normalcy of the actual real. Those are the beautiful stories. The ones we can actually relate too. They have real people, real hard stuff, real hold your hand when your sad love. That’s the good stuff. Hallmark has nothing on that.