Those of you who have spent some time here will probably recall my plaintive air of melancholy and lonely resignation; my occasional threads about gender politics or fruitless dating belying the sad truth, which is that for lo, these five years I have been alone, single and (mostly) unfragged.
But wait! I went to an extended-family Thanksgiving feast at which I met somebody I hardly noticed except that he liked my blueberry pie. Then I went to an extended-family Christmas feast, at which this same somebody turned out to be a massive geek (I love that!) with a certain very intriguing je ne sais quoi.
As it turns out, he is every bit as gearheaded, psytrance-music-loving, romantic, filthy-minded and perverse as me, and now brujaja has a boyfriend!
I knew he loved me too when I used the word, “tesseract,”
and he said, “Quick! Where’s the first place you ever saw that word?”
And I said, “A Wrinkle In Time,”
and he said, “I love you!”
Thank you, Flying Spaghetti Monster in all your many guises and sauces. I have been touched by the Noodly Appendage of Love.
Well, my Venus is in his sun sign. And his… oh, never mind about that.
But for the sake of all the Dopers who told me not to give up and who assured me that they themselves, their relatives, or their friends found love at (insert advanced age here), I would like to repeat this message to anyone else who is waiting, wondering, trying not to try too hard and TRYING not to trip:
Hang on! The weirdest things happen when you least expect them!
How’s this for weird: 17 years ago, I sat on the back porch of a homeless shelter after lights out, holding my newborn baby, and crying because his father had left me without a word, all alone. A man sat looking out a window of the mens’ side of the shelter, and he saw a woman crying and asked the attendant if there was something they should do for her.
17 years later, my son is nearly grown, I have a nice home and three jobs and much good water under the bridge — and that man is now my boyfriend.