Around this time last year, I was swinging wildly between reasonable composure and all-out insanity. I was going to get married, see, and the term ‘bridezilla’ was suddenly making total sense to me.
I wasn’t sure about it. The plain simple fact was we hadn’t dated each other for long enough. In fact till about three years ago, the only thing I knew about him was that he was once in my friend’s class in college. And that he liked to read.
He, on the other hand, knew about me. He knew what I did for a living, how sarcastic I was, how bitter and cynical, how messed up and how I chose to write about it all. Because he’d been reading this blog the whole time. Now how he reached the conclusion that I was a normal, lovable person based on that, is beyond me.
But he did and decided to leave a nice, decent, gentlemanly comment about my writing on a social networking site. I thanked him kindly, there was an amusing case of mistaken identity where I thought he was a totally different classmate of my friend’s, we had a nice laugh and it ended at that.
But then, a year later, I left a comment on his blog and it started again. The conversation moved to Facebook, then to G-chat, then to Vodafone and finally we decided to meet. It was all very You’ve Got Mail – let me tell you, it’s really ridiculous when your own life decides to throw originality to the winds and gets busy imitating Hollywood.
He was nothing like I expected. Not even remotely like the men I’d have usually gone out with. And get this, he liked that I was sarcastic. All this while I’d been watching my tongue, hoping not to bite a guy’s head off with my barbs and along comes someone who not only doesn’t mind it, actually thinks it’s all cool and spunky. Go figure.
And me, little old cynical me, who thought she’d never trust men after what the Assholy Ex did, I knew within two months of dating this man that I could only ever consider marriage if he was going to be involved.
Curiouser and curiouser, as Carroll would say.
But don’t let the movies fool you – marriage is not a happy ending. Sure, bits of it are really, truly filled with happiness, but there’s no ‘ending’ in sight. In our case, it’s two totally different people, who’re still getting to know each other. I’m finding out what he’s like after ten hours of work and two hours of TV. He’s finding out the sides of me I don’t write about here.
It’s a wonderful process of discovery that leaves us alternately sulking and giggling, even in the middle of an argument. Which I’m taking as a good sign.
So as we celebrate our first year of this glorious madness that is marriage, I’m going to be raising a toast to the most important supporting character of our story. Here’s to the internet, ladies and gentlemen – may it bring you a surprise as pleasant as mine.