Tonight, I started filling out paperwork for the Reverend who is going to marry Chris and me, and about halfway through page five, when I was listing his maternal and paternal grandparents, something hit me.
I haven't practiced my new signature!
I immediately grabbed the first piece of scrap paper I could lay my hands on and started practicing. As I scribbled my new name over and over again, I thought about some of my favorite moments with Chris and felt like I had been run over by a huge Mac Truck carrying a lifetime supply of Lucky.
Often, when my mind has time to wander, I think about the first time we met. I was fairly certain I'd never find what I was looking for, and was still letting the super glue dry on my broken heart. Chris was a San Diegan who had spent the last few years in San Francisco, and had followed a job lead out to My Neck Of The Woods. As fate would have it, not only did I know his new boss, but I had caught the bouquet at his wedding. After a quarter of a century wondering about my future husband, I met him on my very own doorstep. If either one of has had done just one little thing differently, none of this ever would have happened. It's something that boggles my mind, that overwhelms me, that makes me believe in love and fate and God and makes me like a country song.
And now, aforementioned Love of My Life is home, so I'm going to exit stage left.
I can't believe I made it through an entire post with little to no sarcasm! Expect overcompensation tomorrow!
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