Hello everyone! I have a real treat for you today – a love story! Not a Hollywood, take your breath away, grab the tissues love story, but a story of uncertainty, reality and the moment one of my wonderful readers “knew”. The lovely Lucy from Moll and Mostin is our guest author today and I’d love it if you could give her a really warm welcome.
It’s a little-known fact that most relationships look more like this…………… than like this…
Love at first sight?
As a little caveat, whilst blogging on a wedding blog, I should probably mention I’m not engaged or married. I am an enthusiastic vicarious observer of wedding blogs, and love getting involved in weddings myself, with my own paper products. Mr Moll has become accustomed to our Internet search engine and direct advertising throwing up links and recommendations for all things weddingy, and, to his credit, doesn’t break into a sweat. I do love poring over all the pretty details, but can say that I am completely happy without a big day on the horizon.
In fact, I’m here to talk about the other end of the marriage chronology – those first few heady and uncertain days of a relationship. More specifically, I’m here to ask, when did you know your groom was the man you would marry?
Was it love at first sight or perhaps an instant and calm all-knowing certainty on your second date? Were you friends for years without seeing him like that, or did you not know until he knelt before you, ring in hand and question on lips?
It seems that the romantic myth does love a love-at-first-sight story. We love the idea that fate places people together with such force that they will recognise it and see it in each others faces, and know it in their looks. Even in scary, non-fictional real life, it’s been assumed that we somehow knew from our first date that we would end up a couple of years down the line, living together and taking it in turns to make the tea in the morning. At least, a friend recently asked us how much of our comfortable selves we were at the beginning, and whether we knew we’d make it together.
No thunderbolt moment? How do you know it’s the real deal?
Luckily neither of us can claim to have felt the thunderbolt on first meeting – lucky because if one of us had, that would make for awkward re-telling. In contrast, for the first few weeks, the feeling I remember most is the uncertainty and perilousness of the situation. I felt like I was holding on to something, not even being clear what it was, with fingertips alone. It felt like the smallest obstacle would knock us apart. And I wasn’t even sure there was an ‘us’.
Not for us the happy certainty of love and comfort at first sight. But how has this idea monopolised romance? Just because I didn’t look into Mr Moll’s face and see our future mapped out, it doesn’t mean I missed out. What I lost in certainty and one magical moment, I gained in a series of small moments that slowly revealed how much he was the one for me.
One of the most memorable of these was my first birthday that we were together. Mr Moll is excellent at presents. He never fails to beat me on the ability to buy exactly something I want, all without me guessing what it could be. It’s galling for my inability to compete, but excellent for receiving presents.
We’d been together for under a year. We were going away for my birthday, so he gave me my present before he left. He reached under the sofa and from underneath it, slid a large, flattish, rectangular box. I hadn’t a clue what it could be. I pulled it out, to much excitement. It was a print. A beautiful print, that we had seen and I had liked whilst we walked around a print exhibition. Beautiful, amazing, touching.
I can imagine what you’re thinking, ‘So your boyfriend pays attention and buys you lovely things. Great.’ Well yes, it is great, but it isn’t the point of the story. The real moment of realisation was when he was telling me the story of getting the print framed. He told me all about having it framed, the specifications, and most importantly, the problems he’d had because they had failed to mount it properly. They had failed, despite his order, to float mount it, on a backing. Instead they had framed it to the edge of the print. This is a small thing, an obscure thing. He’d done all the work, and found and bought the print I’d loved. He’d already succeeded in the grand gesture.
But, he knew that the framing would be important to me. He refused to take the one they’d done incorrectly. He knew how important this small detail was. This was the moment I knew. Any man that knew float mounting was worth an argument with a man in an art gallery, was a keeper for me.
And it’s these moments, not the ground-breaking, earth-shattering Hollywood miracle moments, that are important. There are countless small moments of revelation that make your heart swell. And now I can hardly wait – what are yours? What small and special moments made you realise you’d somehow stuck gold?