So when people ask how my husband and I met, I used to feel a little embarrassed telling the story. Not because we met in some awkward way–it’s a crazy story!–but because we didn’t. We met, he asked me out, we started dating. Not exactly epic. I wasn’t backpacking through Tibet and there was this guy sitting next to me on the bus…Or the story of my friend’s sister.* And to add to the problem, I am not one of those people who think their life stories are super-fascinating to other people. (Even though, yes, I write this blog. Oh, the contradiction.). So I didn’t really feel like we had a love story in caps.
Like in the Taylor Swift song, Love Story. That’s the epitome of the American Love Story: drama, doubt, happy ending. Rebel, angry dad, absent boyfriend–does this sound familiar to anyone? Those wedding ads for that Beautiful perfume should just jump on that: the Swift song could solve their advertising problems forever! If anyone hasn’t heard the song 5,000,000 times by now, it’s a retelling of Romeo and Juliet from Juliet’s point of view, but without the death and poison; her troubles end with Romeo’s marriage proposal.
I was thinking about the words of the song tonight and love stories and despite the fact that maybe the man I love and I didn’t hit all the Shakespearian plot points, ours is a love story in the Swiftian sense. Not because of the drama and doubt (there was some, of course), but because of the happy ending. We fell in love and got married–now that’s a love story!