In other words, it turns out, I think I’ve fallen, and it’s not a bit like I thought that it should be.
Should is the mere smear of hidden dog-pooh on the sole of life, the gum stuck to the bottom of a school-room desk, and bitter taste left in your mouth after swallowing your own voice.
Should is buying the sensible shoes when you really want the rhinestone, feathered stilettos. Should is for cowards and those who lack imagination.
When I tell you that falling head over heels in love is not at all like it should be, you likely need to pay attention. You see, I’ve had an entire adult life with false-falling-in-love-alarms. I’m an expert in almost-falling-in-love and attracting duds.
I’ve primped, preened, pruned, pushed, pulled and plumped various and sundry wiggly bits and personality traits to try to get things to work, to fit, to feel right. The only thing that has happened, is that it all feels wrong. Uncomfortable, or in the words of the Duchess of Bourbon and Juicy Man-Steaks, it feels “Icky”.
Icky is not lovely. Nor is it sexy, or attractive, or even desirable. Icky is just icky. You can’t possibly feel like a lady if things are icky.
What isn’t icky is enjoying the company of someone so very much that you forget about your mascara running, and hair being mussed up, or (gasp), that you don’t have to worry what you say or how you say it because you just ‘get’ one another. That isn’t icky, it’s incredible.
Really loving someone and feeling loved in return is a gift that we often deny ourselves by playing gracious host to our fears of failure, abandonment and loneliness. When we do this, they park their asses in our psychological parlour and overstay their welcome. While fear lingers over the same old cold cup of tea, telling us stories we’ve heard a thousand times, we lose our opportunity to give serendipity a whirl, and everybody knows what a great party serendipity can throw.
More than fearing being a dweller in the kingdom of singledom, fear dwelling in the kingdom of joyless half-lives and meaningless stuff. Flowers on the first date may check all the Harlequin boxes, but they rarely plant seeds which take root in our souls.
Falling in love is not all of the things we are taught it should be; the right time, the right place, flowers for no reason and grand romantic gestures. I’ve lorded over that kingdom, and it kind of lacks substance. Ok, ok, I confess, I did like the champagne.
All kidding aside, there’s nothing fun about discovering your paramour is an ignorant sociopath disguised in the glitter of fairytales.
Falling in love is akin to coming home after a long, cold, winter day, curling up in your favourite duvet, and having it hug you back, kiss you tenderly on the forehead, and tell you that it’s all going to be… fantastic.