Shoot. I have something to write about here, but I have to start by telling you that I just opened a yoghurt pottle the wrong way, and it splattered yoghurt all over my top. I’m wearing a nice top today, too. One that people are going to NOTICE the yoghurt stains on.
At least I’ve already had my counseling appointment today. I don’t have to rock up all: ‘Opps, I’m wearing yoghurt on my top – and not as a fashion statement.’
It makes me feel better about being a bit of a hot-mess sometimes if I can show up to counselling looking polished, and clean – like I’ve at least showered and brushed my own hair this week. Not that my counsellor gives a crap how I look. She cares more about how the lines on my forehead move when I’m trying to get away with a half-truth. (Or as us in the profession call them: lies.)
Today I have big news! Big, non-yoghurt related, news.
I received a marriage proposal this morning, via an internet dating site that I’m on.
(Pause for much squealing and congratulatory well wishing)
It was from a 33 year-old Columbian man, who is currently living in the USA… And guys?? He’s a doctor! Or at least he will be once he’s finished another seven-or-so years of study.
Admittedly, this is the first time that Man from Columbia (who I affectionately call Snookiewookums) has ever contacted me, but it was love at first internet dating message for both of us.
He started by introducing himself. Snookiewookums unfortunately forgot to include his name, but it’s ok. Names are overrated when you have a soul-deep connection like we do. I doubt he knows mine either, considering he addressed the letter to ‘Dear Sweet One’.
Le sigh. Sweet One. It’s so romantic. I’ve always longed for someone to see past my generic ‘Shannon’ label, into my soft, gushy heart, and label me ‘Sweet One’. It’s so bold, and brash, and unique! He sees me for the rare gem – and the high blood-sugared individual – that I am.
He told me all about his life, in the United States, and how he seeks knowledge through our education system. It may have only been three sentences, But I already feel like I know my Columbian Gentleman better than I’ve ever known any other human being. And guys? We’re perfect for each other.
He’s a student, I’m a student. He’s lived in USA, and one day I would like to travel there. He comes from Columbia, and I once read a report on the human rights and political system in Columbia. He’s ready to settle down, and I’m ready to be taken in-hand and shown my womanly duty by a manly head-of-the-household type. He wants to move to New Zealand, and obtain an residents visa, I’m a New Zealand Citizen!
We’d be good for each other.
No sooner did I come to this conclusion, than he textually sweeps me off my feet, and proposes. It was the most romantic thing ever. And I read romance books by the truck-load. I know romance.
He said “I am looking for to get married for the purposes of residency visas.”
I know, I know, he’s couched it all as if it’s actually for a visa, or something, but guys. This is a male we’re talking about. He’s not quite as in touch with his feelings as us ladies. He’s desperately trying to cover up his DEEP LONGING to be with me.
It’s alright Snookiewookums. The world may not understand you, but I, shadow of your soul, reflection of your heart, I DO understand you. My Columbian Gentleman, of course I’ll marry you. Was it ever in doubt? Did your heart ever question the devotion of mine? Of course not. For a love, such as ours, is pure, and deep, like the two most singularly, pure, deep wells of spring water high upon the mountaintops. We are untouched by humanity, only to trickle ever gradually together, into a gushing torrent: a river of oneness!
Now, if you will all excuse me, I have to go put this poor man out of his misery. (I can hardly believe I’m getting married!)