unconventional love

 

Dear husband,

 

 

Six years ago today, I was a gibbering wreck of a woman. A worrisome wife-to-be, quivering, on the edge of marriagehood. I was only a few short strides away, and yet it felt like the universe was between us. As I sauntered down the aisle to a medley of tender acoustic strokes, everything blurred into the backdrop. A hue of vibrant colours wrapped themselves around me – comfortably obscure. And then there was you – perfectly untouched. You had scrubbed up well. A far cry from the tracksuit bottoms I had grown accustomed to. Your hair was tousled. In all the hustle and bustle, you had forgotten to style it. Typical you! Your unruly mane didn’t distress me in the slightest. In fact, I barely noticed. I was too busy trying to catch my breath. The soothing chorus of stringed notes came to a standstill and, for a moment, the world stood still. Merged together, hand in hand, everything else became irrelevant; a mere haze in the corner of our vision. As we exchanged rings, we gazed into each other’s eyes …and then it hit me at FULL FORCE like a slap across the face;

 

 

“What the f**k have I done?”

 

 

 

Those “what the f**k” moments; they still tread on my heels from time to time. Mostly when you annoy the crap out of me. Your dirty clothes dumped two inches from the laundry basket. Your inability to put the milk back in the fridge after you’ve used it. That pile of toenail clippings I keep finding on the sofa’s edge. I mean, I could go on, but this is meant to be a love letter…

 

And so I find myself racking my brains for romantic thoughts, but sadly, to no avail. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. The truth is, I’m not very good at this gooey, sentimental stuff. And let’s face it, you aren’t exactly Mr Chivalry yourself. But heck –  be it through miracle or sheer stupidity – we are still together. Six years on, and we are STILL gazing into one another’s eyes and wondering;

 

 

“Why the f*** are we still together?”

 

 

I’m joking, of course.

 

Although, it wasn’t exactly LOVE at first sight. There were no arrow-shooting cherubs when we first caught eyes. Nor were there flying sparks, for that matter. The only things flying, in fact, were my drunken arms – flapping all over the damn place – while innocent bystanders feared for their lives. And rather than falling ‘head over heels’, I fell – it’s fair to say  – less elegantly (*coughs* arse over tit!) into your unsuspecting arms. I pretty much knew at this point – when you chose not to turn and run in the opposite direction – that you were different from the others. You were a keeper. I don’t know if you knew it yet – to be honest, I think you just wanted to get laid – but this was the beginning of a special kind of love. A less conventional one, shall we say. As we continued to dance flappy-armed and Bambi-legged, we were blissfully unaware that our fortuitous beginning would lead to greater things.

 

You see, the thing about meeting the ‘love of your life’ whilst under the influence of alcohol, is that we couldn’t have been any more different. You were very much the dreamer. Mr lets-drop-everything-and-go-live-in-a-tepee-in-South-Asia. “Yes, darling… and how is that going to work?” I would sigh, yanking your head from out of the clouds. But as much as I roll my eyes and grit my teeth at times, I like that about you. I like the fact that you have shown me this whole new abstract way of thinking. I like the fact that you have burst my insular little bubble and unveiled this BIG WIDE WORLD. Quite frankly, it makes me want to say, “F**k it all, let’s move to the other side of the world and become pro-champion surfers!” I mean, I can’t surf to save my life, but with you, that doesn’t matter. With you by my side, I feel like I’m CRAZY INVINCIBLE.

 

And then there is me; Mrs down-to-earth. Impatient, stubborn and psychotic at times. Childlike, in a way that I like to push your buttons and then watch you react. I may not share your passions for worldly affairs, but this doesn’t mean that I don’t like to adopt the opposing view so we can enter one of your 3-hour debates (Yep, the ones where I switch off 5 minutes in and start to play out funny scenarios in my head!) Yes. My attention span isn’t great either… and intellectually. Umm, excuse me while I look up that great big word I’ve never heard of.

 

You and me; we are different. We annoy each other. We piss each other off. We say stupid things. We take it all back. We shed tears. We have tantrums. We sulk for 12 hours AND SOME. We send ‘psycho crazy’ text messages and shortly regret them. I think it’s fair to say we have had our fair share of ups and downs. But put all of that aside, and we are left with two people with one thing in common – a crazy kind of love. A crazy kind of love that makes no sense at all, and yet makes all the sense in the world.

 

My darling husband, there are times when you drive me ABSOLUTELY BATSHIT CRAZY. There are times when your nonsensical ideas almost tip me over the edge. Heck, there are also times when I silently question whether I should slip a pillow over your face while you are sleeping (I’m totally kidding!) but a life without you would be simply lustreless.  No matter how long I sulk or how ‘psycho bitch’ I GO ON YOUR ASS, It’s never long before I remember how truly lucky I am to share my life with my favourite…

 

 

… PAIN IN THE ARSE!

 

 

You may annoy me more than I ever thought was possible, but I want to spend every IRRITATING second with you.

 

Love; it’s a mystery to me. A mystical enigma that I’ll never truly understand. And yet, I’ve experienced it a million times over with you. It warms my heart and brings colour to my cheeks. It excites me and makes me feel alive. And yet, at times, it makes me feel insecure. It makes me irrational, resentful and jealous beyond belief. Because of you, I know what true love is. Unconditional love. Imperfect love. Beautifully unconventional and always full of surprises.

 

 

I will love you always,

 

Your loving wife,

 

Amanda

 

x x x

 

 

love marriage

 

Ps; You can remove that pile of toenail clippings from the sofa now.

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