If My Life were a Romance Novel

By Brittany Shirley

 

I am constantly reading, editing, and rereading romance novels. I love them, every part. The hero. The heroine. The mushiness. The difficulties. That bewitching moment when he looks at her and finally realizes this is love. They are amazing. Some are set in the past, the future, a different dimension. They all have those wonderful sections that make me keep reading. I am fortunate enough to be able to get paid to read them. While editing is one of the smaller portions of my job, it is also one of the most enjoyable. I was chatting with the lovely Deb Smith the other day. I told her something that I heard from others: “Oh, Brittany! The right guy is out there for you.” That was unsolicited consoling. I did not say “Oh, I am so lonely.” Or “Wow, I wish I had a boyfriend.” None of those words came out of my mouth. I made a joke about my  “future husband.” Apparently that got people thinking I was lonely right now. The truth is at the ripe age of _____ (because I am not going to tell you my real age), I have plenty of time to get married. But, as I am telling this to Deb, I have a thought: what if my life were a romance novel, and this is just the opening scene. Now, I am a huge fan of all books, but I love a good romantic tale. It’s what I read, and it’s what I edit.

So in my dream world, my life is a romance novel (how exciting is that?). I have a weird childhood. I go to college and graduate on time. I am the Type A student. I have tons of friends, good friends. I date some good guys. There are relationships that just don’t quite work but end on good terms. I date some bad guys that break my heart (so far, Check!). All in all, I am that average girl. I make mistakes, but my life is ordinary. Until one day!

One day, I am at the grocery store. I see a cute boy. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. He is chuckling because I am stretching but I still can’t reach the ketchup. Why do they have to put it on the top shelf anyway? He walks over, grabs the bottle of ketchup, and hands it to me. WOW, ketchup guy is really gorgeous. I say thank you, but it is probably barely audible. He smiles, says you’re welcome, and walks away. I am standing there in awe of what just happened. I snap back to reality and continue to grocery shop.

A month later, my best friend, Danielle, sets me up on a blind date. The guy is super nice and a doctor. We will call him, Bob. What he lacks in communication (so not a talker), Bob makes up in his choice of venue for the evening. We go to a cooking class. I love to cook. LOVE to cook. This is a perfect place for a date: we can talk, but silences won’t be awkward because we will be cooking. There will be wine. Yay, finally a man with taste! I start to question whether Danielle put him up to this or if he is just that awesome. We are partnered with another couple. The man is out of the room when we begin. We make small talk with the girl. She is a little older than I am, but she is one of those natural beauties that doesn’t need make up. She also has the flirty, shy quality that I will never have. I am loud and opinionated, and shy isn’t exactly an adjective that could describe me. EVER. I try not to hate her as I crush the garlic for the risotto. That is when I notice that my doctor date is staring at her. Not just a slight glance to check her out. He is full-on, jaw-dropped staring. Now, I do hate her. I can’t wait for her date to get back so mine will stop. While this is not number one on my list of worst dates, it certainly is not my best. Her date finally comes back after everyone has already started sautéing the garlic. She gives him a glare that could melt the ice in the Arctic. Even I feel bad for him. Then I see his face. I can’t breathe. It is him. It’s the guy from the grocery store.
“You’re the ketchup guy!” I blurt out. Bob looks at me like I am crazy. But I am not crazy. I didn’t ruin our date, he did. So ketchup guy chuckles and his eyes squint. “Yeah, that would be me. I rescue ladies from top-shelf ketchup disasters.” I giggle. Which, if you know me at all, is NOT something I do. Girly girls giggle. I laugh, guffaw, and snort while doing so. I don’t giggle. Maybe it’s the wine. Bob has stopped looking at anyone and is concentrated on the food.

All of the sudden, ketchup guy starts sneezing and coughing. His face is beginning to swell. To me, it looks like an allergic reaction, but I am no doctor. Bob looks at him and tells the instructor to call 911. No one has an Epi Pen. Then I remember I have Benadryl, the byproduct of my reaction to perfumes of any kind. I dig in my purse find the bottle, and shove a few at him. He has to swallow them with wine. Eventually, before the paramedics show up, he turns a normal shade of pink as his face is no longer swollen.

The paramedics arrive and look him over. They deem him well enough to forgo the ER. I turn back toward my date who has been chatting with super flirty, shy girl. I roll my eyes and hope there is a twenty in my purse for a cab. It looks like Bob and Sarah (I heard him call her that) have other plans. Yay, me! I can save a life and lose a date all in the matter of three hours.

    Ketchup guy walks over to me while I am drinking my fourth glass of wine. I am getting a cab anyway, I might as well enjoy myself.

“Hi, my name is (insert future my husband’s name here). I wanted to say thank you for saving me an embarrassing trip to the ER. For that, I am eternally grateful.”

“You’re welcome. My name is Brittany.” I say in what I hope sounds like a sexy voice.

I can totally tell he is laying it on thick, but I let it slide. He almost died for goodness sake. Well, had to go to the ER. Then, I find myself flirting. I have not done that in a while. Bob barely spoke on the ride here, except to introduce himself. Ketchup boy tells Bob he will take me home, and that Bob should probably take Sarah home soon. The kitchen is closing. He winks at Bob and walks back over to me. I didn’t even know people my age did that. It is pretty attractive.

I don’t exactly argue, but I do ask, “Why do you assume I will just let you take me home? I don’t know you. The only thing I know is that you have an allergy and you can reach ketchup.”

But I do let him take me home. He asks me for my number. I give him every number except for the last. I write down a math equation. If he can figure that out, he is definitely a keeper. And he does.

We date, fall in love, and are genuinely happy. There are arguments. We fight. There is tension.

One weekend, he surprises me completely and takes me to an Opening Day game.  He proposes to me at a Busch Stadium in St. Louis (The Cardinals are my favorite baseball team). We get married in a sweet, Southern ceremony. And every year, on my anniversary, I call Danielle to thank her for setting me up with Bob. Because without Bob, I would have never met my future husband. Bob married Sarah, so all in all. Everything worked out for the best.

While I lucked out with a gorgeous guy (in this romance novel), that is not even close to how I admire men (I mean YES, I love the way they look). But, hey, I was attracted to Bob ( which is all I need). He was cute. But Bob blew the date, and I landed my ketchup guy. J There is something magical about how people fall in love. About how they find themselves complimented by another. About how they spend the rest of their lives in love. Yes, love means fighting, tension, anger, and threats of poisoning their favorite food. But the story and the look in a person’s eye is so enchanting. This is what my life would be like if I got to pick how I would meet my future husband. But I don’t think I can write a story as captivating as real life and true love.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all!

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,