before you tell me your love story, let me tell you mine...

My story starts with the classic boy meets girl, or in my case, girl makes fool out of herself with said boy. Approaching him whilst a sea of sweat and messy girl hair bun played the main character. Our beginning wasn’t made up of longing gazes and sparks flying, but more like a handful of playful niggles and smart as* witty comments as we both tried to work out whether was more love or love lost. Our story definitely didn’t start like some of my favourite love stories growing up. But looking back now, I definitely wouldn’t change a thing. 

Fast forward a few cheeky digs here or there, a few special hush hush hangouts and a valentines day that if you ask my now husband wasn’t a valentines day and we both knew this was more than either of us expected, we were in deeper then we realised, we were as the youngings would say, ‘screwed’ (in all the good ways). 

After a year and a half of unspoilt laughter, adventures amongst the beach and country, sharing good food together and watching just about every sunset we could, my now husband dropped the knee on Christmas morning in front of my family. Anyone who knows me and he knew me well, knows I hate any attention where I am at the centre, so you can only imagine how red (like Christmas red) I went with this display. We can laugh about it now, but in the moment, I wanted to throttle him. It almost felt full circle in a cosmic way, given our romance started with such passionate emotions. 

We were one of the lucky couples, finding each other just as we both needed it, whether we realised it or not in the beginning, our story turned out pretty much like the pages of my favourite romance novels and I count my blessings each day. The adventures that lay ahead for us are some of my favourite chapters in our romance novel, drawing happiness from each other, our children and the home we have created – and my goodness, Jane Austen couldn’t even compete with my happy ending.